City Commissioner Joe Carollo, who was once arrested for beating up his wife in front of his child, proposed a resolution banning all dancing in Little Havana, an act seen by many as part of a longstanding vendetta he has against Bill Fuller, the owner of Ball and Chain, a popular nightclub in Little Havanna.

Commissioner Carollo said his reasons for banning all dancing within Little Havana have nothing to do with Mr. Fuller but was instead about keeping Little Havana safe. “I would never use my office to retaliate against my enemies,” he said before laughing to himself and muttering something about “now this will show Bill Fuller not to mess with me because I can use my political office to retaliate against my enemies.”

We asked Joe Carollo whether he would support reinstating dancing after Coronavirus was cured, but the Miami Commissioner said this has nothing to do with Covid, which was a total scam, but was about protecting the morals of Little Havana.

“Dafuq?” we asked, to which Commissioner Carollo esplained:

“Okay, see, Little Havana is a Latin neighborhood so it’s important to me that we keep it safe. Latins are Catholics, everyone knows that. And Catholics don’t have pre-marital sex. Now dancing, you see, dancing can lead to pre-marital sex. So, that means dancing is anti-Catholic. Being anti-Catholic is a socialistic quality. Therefore, if you oppose me you are a socialist. And socialists are not wanted in Little Havana, because it is a Latin neighborhood, and we have to keep it that way,” said Commissioner Carollo, before accusing me of being a socialist. “Satire is the socialist’s propaganda tool,” he said to me before leaving the interview to beat up his wife.

We reached out to Ball and Chain’s owner for some free drink tickets, but the request was denied. We also asked what started his feud with the Commissioner and he said it was something about Carollo being pissed that Fuller supported a different candidate for Commissioner or something. I don’t know, I lost interest because it was so stupid.

When asked whether he thought Carollo would succeed in banning all dancing in Little Havana, Fuller was pessimistic. “Of course not, it’s like Dirty Dancing. They couldn’t ban dancing there and they won’t be able to ban dancing in Little Havana. People will revolt,” Fuller said, proud of himself about the reference.

“Actually, it’s like Dirty Dancing: Little Havana Nights!,” he added with a laugh, really happy with the pun.

As we parted I thanked Mr. Fuller for his time, before gently reminding him that it was the town in Footloose that banned dancing, not Dirty Dancing. He was embarrassed so I used the opportunity to ask again for some free drink tickets. He declined.


In all seriousness: Joe Carollo (pictured arrested below) is on a vendetta against Ball and Chain because he is a petty bitch. His newest line of attack is trying to manipulate Covid fears to create regulations that make it impossible for the bar to reopen.

If you want to see Ball and Chain open you can sign the petition HERE

South Miami’s Shops at Sunset Place has suffered low consumer turnout and a plague of store closings since its opening in 1999. This trend was originally set by its predecessor, the Bakery Centre Mall, which closed in 1996 after a decade providing a movie theater, 9 acres of perpetually vacant shop fronts, and one fully-functional TCBY Yogurt. A document recently leaked to The Plantain reveals that the beleaguered shopping center may be suffering from setbacks of the metaphysical variety: it was built on an ancient burial ground.

The leaked document dates back to surveys of the original Bakery Centre site, stating: “Archaeological consultants strongly advise against building on this property after groundbreaking unearthed interment mounds of a previously-unknown indigenous tribe. Building here is strongly discouraged due to high likelihood of an enduring curse.”

The anonymous informant found the Bakery Centre zoning report after researching the site’s background following complaints from Michael Stevenson, Sunset Place’s night security.

“I’d monitor the halls at night and I’d hear shrieks and my spine would just freeze,” said Mr. Stevenson who was recently turned down for the third time from the police academy for “personality reasons.” “At first I thought the noises were just from some kids, likely Black, that were leaving the movie theater, but there was no one there except for some very suspicious and ethnic looking poltergeists,” said the 33-year-old security guard who plans to apply for the police academy again in September. “I shot the unarmed ghost a dozen times, but the bullets went right through it.”

Mr. Stevenson’s account matches other complaints from Sunset Place employees and visitors, who have also reported hearing footsteps where no one has traversed, experiencing feelings of emptiness and purposelessness when patrolling the western portions of the mall, and witnessing apparitions in the former Virgin Megastore/Bodies Exhibition/Furniture Showroom/Seasonal Halloween Costume Outlet installation, despite it “totally not being October.”

An official statement from Sunset Place management announced that plans are underway to rectify the situation and, hopefully, provide mall-goers with incentives to visit attractions other than the movie theater and restaurants.

Improvement plans include raising the volume on mall PA systems while they loop Gloria Estefan’s 1985 album “Primitive Love” to drown out the wails of distraught ghouls who tend to haunt the former Hot Topic installation. The mall’s owners are also planning to commission several murals, statues, and toilets by local mall artist Romero Britto, to “brighten the landscape with imagery that inspires visitation” and to cover up any walls that are consistently dripping blood.

The mall also plans to convert the continually-failing west wing formerly housing a Virgin Megastore into a permanent museum and education center celebrating “whoever it was that left their dead people here.”

The Plantain, in its dedication to journalistic integrity, sent several staffers to Sunset Place for a midnight seance, equipped with pendulums, dark candles, and a Ouija board. While no spirit arrived corporeally to give an interview, the board did channel one terse message: “Shut. Those. Fucking. Teenagers. Up.”

When Miami Beach resident Gonzalo Garcia started building an Ark earlier this year, his neighbors thought he was crazy. But few are laughing at the 43-year-old Cuban native now that King Tide and non-stop rain have flooded nearly all of Miami Beach making it impossible to drive anywhere on wheels
“I guess climate change actually is a real problem,” said nearly everyone on earth not named Ron DeSantis.

Mr. Garcia says that God, the almighty creator of all things that ever were and ever will be, came to him and commanded that he start building the Ark in anticipation of a great flood. “I was just sitting in a café, staring deeply into my cortadito when I heard God’s voice. She told me that a great flood was coming and that I should build a 300 cubit long vessel for me, my family, and the world’s animals,” said Mr. Garcia through his 8-year-old daughter and translator Gabriella. “God also told me I should get Gabriella a cell phone like everyone else in her class,” added the girl before being shot a stern look by her father, whose English wasn’t that bad. 

While Mr. Garcia’s divine correspondence has netted him many believers, not everyone is convinced that he has had direct communications with God. Devout climate change denier Senator Marco Rubio insists that Mr. Garcia’s claims are both preposterous and blasphemous: “You only have to look at the scripture to see that Mr. Garcia’s claims are false. I have had a personal relationship with God, and he tells me to look to the Bible for answers. Genesis 9:11 says that God will never again destroy the earth with a flood. How can Mr. Garcia, or any so-called scientists with so-called facts, contradict God’s divine word?”

The Plantain sat down with God at her Aventura condo and asked the deity to respond to Senator Rubio’s assertions.  The Lord, who wholeheartedly denied having a relationship with the diminutive Senator, acknowledged the existence of a covenant preventing Her from destroying the world in a flood again, but argued that because climate change is a man-made problem She wasn’t “technically violating the covenant.” 

When confronted about the equity of Her position, God stated that She chose Mr. Garcia to save the human race so as to not appear cavalier and unsympathetic about what many will mistakenly believe to be a covenant violation. “I didn’t have to save the human race, but I am a just and righteous God, so I figured I’d give y’all another shot. But this is really the last time.” 

“I think Gonzalo is going to be a great savior,” said God confidently. “Obviously, everyone is going to want to compare him to Noah, but they both have their own qualities.” When asked why Mr. Garcia was chosen to save the human race, God said the choice was easy. “I thought to myself: What kind of person would be best equipped to build a serviceable sea-vessel with rummaged material on short notice? Gonzalo was the first Cuban guy I met.”

“I’m really into mindfulness now,” said Brenden Williams to literally everyone he encountered. “It’s really important to self-reflect and meditate,” said the 29-year-old, who also now identifies as a “raw vegan” and is literally the worst.Mr. Williams found that mindfulness offers him the opportunity to seem deeper than he is and to evade responsibility for years of dicking over his closest friends and family by claiming those actions were “in the past” and “not a reflection of my current manifestation,” whatever that means.

“I guess I’m glad Brenden has found inner peace,” said his ex-girlfriend of three-years, Marianna. “But I’m still pissed at him for cheating on me and then trying to gaslight me by accusing me of cheating on him when I confronted him and then stealing $4,000 from our checking account, and taking a bunch of my things from my apartment including a vinyl case of CDs that I had been carrying around since high school. But maybe he really has turned over a new leaf.”

The Plantain spoke to Brenden, who is taking a two-weekend teaching seminar so he can “help others” through mindfulness, about whether his new enlightened persona is authentic or just a manipulative tool that allows him to emotionally abuse the people closest to him by pretending years of selfish behavior is somehow not attributable to his new “mindful” state.

“Nah,” replied Brenden as he placed a burned cd of Before These Crowded Streets into a yellow discman he also stole from Marianna’s apartment. “I truly am a better person now,” he said, before leaving me to attend a private meditation class with a 19 year old girl he found online and definitely plans to have sex with.

“Oh, and can you say my name Guru Amos Love Singh,” he asked me before plugging in his headphones and saying “I fucking love Dave Matthews!”

Sir. Daniel Tannenbutton and Mr. Whiskers, two rats that live together beneath a drainage pipe in Miami’s Edgewater neighborhood, are eager to enjoy the abundance of rotting mangoes that will soon fall from the many mango trees that line the City’s residential neighborhoods.

“It’s my favorite time of year,” said Mr. Whiskers gleefully. “Normally I only eat trash like discarded Pollo Tropical leftovers or soiled diapers. But come the end of the summer I finally get some real food in my little rat tummy,” said the stay-at-home rat who has been in a long-term relationship with Sir. Daniel Tannenbutton for 2 years.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that Mr. Whiskers only eats trash,” interrupted Sir Daniel Tannenbutton. “I work very hard to provide him with the food he eats and I guess I stupidly thought he appreciated it until now. Remember the discarded orange peel I brought home for our anniversary, Mr. Whiskers? Maybe if he didn’t spend all day “working on his art” and watching telenovelas through Mrs. Perez-Santiago’s window we could afford a meal that was up to his sophisticated standards a little more often.”

“Don’t do this Daniel, you know that’s not what I meant,” said Mr. Whiskers to his partner in a whisper.

“Well that’s what you said, Mr. Whiskers. That’s what you said,” said Sir. Daniel Tannenbutton before pausing, taking a sigh, and saying “I’m sorry. I’ve just been working too hard. I’m excited about the rotting mangoes too.”

Miami-Dade government suspended all governmental operations this morning and announced it would do so until the weather reached at least 70 degrees. “It’s just too damn cold to do anything,” said Mayor Carlos Gimenez from underneath three blankets in his bed while The View played in the background. The Mayor says once the Government reopens he plans to enact legislation that would prepare the County for future cold weather fronts by providing educational services to the community to teach people how to dress for the weather and how to use their home’s heater. 

Residents around South Florida are reacting to the cold weather change by shivering uncontrollably. Except Dave, who insists he isn’t cold and even wore shorts to work today to prove the point. “It isn’t so bad. I don’t know what people are complaining about,” said Dave as he brought a cup of iced coffee to his blue lips. 

Twas Nochebuena in Miami and all through la casa 

            sounds of dominoes echoed and songs of azucar;

Papa picked up the lechon from west Hialeah 

            that Abuelo helped kill and put in Caja China; 

Cousins and friends and strangers were gathered

            and all were disturbed when they heard a loud clatter;

A fight had broke out between two cousins named Jorge,

            over a woman named Mary, a recent divorcée;

“I called her, she’s mine!” said Jorge the realtor

            “But I saw her first!” said his cousin (also a realtor);

The fight ended quickly over cups of coquito,

            and soon we all danced and sang ‘Mi Burrito’;           

Glasses were raised and bottles uncorked,

            and we all screamed with glee as they cut through the pork;

“This is so delicious! A feast for the season!”,

            said all at the table except Vera the vegan; 

The tias helped clean while the tios just sat,

            our abuelos told stories, we’re so thankful for that;

So we sat through the night and enjoyed their old tales,

             of a  life long ago, long before came Fidel;

But our eyes soon grew weary and our stomachs grew piqued,

            so we said our goodnights and all kissed on the cheek;

Then we all left the house with leftovers and gifts,

             some insisting they drive, some in Ubers or Lyfts;      

What a great Nochebuena, a thought so sincere,

            one that will never be topped, unless Raul dies next year.    

Merry Christmas From the Plantain

The Plantain has confirmed that Michigan tourists Dennis and Julia Redgrave are safe and have been returned to their hotel after a day of attending the Calle Ocho Festival in Little Havana.

The couple was in South Florida for the weekend and had planned to explore Miami before leaving for a cruise to Haiti, St. Barts, and the Bahamas on Monday. “We looked up things to do in Miami and thought the Calle Ocho Festival looked real fun,” said Dennis. “The only problem is the website didn’t say what street it was on!”

The Michiganders spent most of the morning trying to find the festival, a task that took longer than anticipated after Dennis asked several locals for directions and was either just shrugged at or purposefully given incorrect directions.  After several hours, and an inadvertent trip to Hialeah, the couple reached Eighth Street and even found parking after they paid a few children $40 to park in what they said was their parents’ lawn.

After several minutes of trying on hats, awkwardly dancing to La Vida Es Un Carnaval, and avoiding plumes of cigar smoke from very short men, the couple became separated from each other after Dennis was lured into what he thought was a friendly domino game and Julia accidentally enrolled herself in the festival’s croquette eating competition.

“I thought it would be fun, but I guess the competitive spirit got the best of me,” said Julia, a type 2-diabetic who became briefly comatose after devouring 91 ham croquettes in 8 minutes to take home the women’s eating title.  As she sat unconscious on the floor, her husband was losing the keys to his rental car, several thousand dollars in traveler’s checks, and the new hat he just bought to a group of 80-year-old domino sharks.

After awakening from her stupor to find that her shoes had been stolen, a barefooted Julia tracked down Dennis and traded the $30 Valsan gift certificate she won for eating over 16,000 calories worth of croquettes to an on-duty cop in exchange for him calling an ambulance to take the occasionally still convulsing woman to the hospital for observation. 

After several hours of observation, Ms. Redgrave was released. The 64-year-old retiree said she and her husband have canceled their cruise and plan to return to Michigan as soon as possible for some much-needed rest.

“She lucky to be alive,” said Julia’s physician Dr. Norman Babo.  “It isn’t safe for a Midwesterner to eat that many croquetas. Or anyone, for that matter.”

Wearing a light jacket and a really cute knitted beanie she’s had since high school, Jessica Rodriguez stepped out of her Downtown Miami office, took a deep breath of the cool air, and for a moment was able to put the fact that the world was so damn awful outside of her mind. “The weather is so nice today,” said the young architect to herself just before an elderly man screamed at the second-generation Cuban-American to go back to Mexico.

Brushing off the vituperative stranger, Ms. Rodriguez walked a few blocks to her favorite local cafe for a hot chocolate, but it had closed down. “Commercial rent increases really do make it difficult for mom and pop stores to stick around,” she thought to herself before remembering the wonderful weather. There was an Au Ban Pan several blocks away so she headed there instead.

“One soy hot chocolate, please”, said a smiling Jessica to a 35-year-old barista with a nose ring who rang her up but otherwise refused to acknowledge her existence. Undeterred, Jessica swiped her card and flashed the barista a kind smile. “Yo, you need to insert the chip,” said the barista curtly in response. “Oh, of course,” Jessica responded as she inserted the chip. After she paid she gave the barista a $2 tip. “He needs it more than me,” she thought to herself and then waited 15 minutes for her drink to arrive. 

As she walked back into the pleasant outdoor breeze, Jessica sipped her hot chocolate and realized it was not made with soy after all. She briefly considered asking for a new cup, but thought better of it because diarrhea can be nice sometimes and she really didn’t want to have another rude interaction with that barista. The hot chocolate was delicious though.

Jessica enjoyed the several block walk to the Miami-Dade County Book Fair. Along the way she almost got hit by a car only twice and was very happy to have had her headphones in so she could politely ignore the many homeless people who begged her for money. Pretending not to hear or see them, she saw one in an ill-fitting military uniform, which she figured must be fake. “Our government wouldn’t let real veterans live on the street,” she thought. Another had literally no nose and held a sign identifying himself as “Cancer Bob.” “Well, at least those people get to be outside on this gorgeous day,” she told herself as she tucked her purse under her arm and looked down at the sidewalk as she passed Cancer Bob.

When she arrived at the Book Fair, Jessica admired the vendors selling old copies of books and perused them knowing full well she would not buy any. She hadn’t actually read a full book since high school, and even then it was just the Cliff’s Notes of Brave New World.

She passed by a WLRN booth and was asked if she would be interviewed. She excitedly agreed and was asked what her favorite book was. “Brave New World,” she said trying to recall the name of the main character, which she couldn’t. “And why is it your favorite book?” asked the interviewer, to which Jessica nervously replied, “It just really was ahead of its time and is super inspiring” before adding “I do have to get going, though. Thanks! Bye!”

Walking through the fair, she then saw David and Gail riffling through a pile of old books at the Booklegger tent. “OMG! So good to see you!” she said to her friends, who she didn’t actually know too well or particularly like. 

“Isn’t the weather just amazing?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s nice. I guess. Did you hear the Trump is getting impeached?” said David.

“Oh yeah, I saw something about that. That’s bad, right?” sighed Jessica.

“Are you kidding? He was conspiring with Ukraine for his own domestic political agenda,” said David.

“It’s not like Biden wasn’t also using Ukraine to advance his interests. What about Burisma?” said Gail.

“Yeah, totally. Anyway, I love the Book Fair, I just was interviewed about my favorite book: Brave New World. It was pretty cool,” said Jessica, pivoting the conversation to a more pleasant topic.

“That book is crap,” said Gail, herself changing subjects to a backed drain pipe down the block that was sputtering sewer water into the street. “It’s going to be a Brave New World in a few years when this whole shithole is underwater,” she said and she lit up an American Spirit. “Climate change is a real problem. It’s why the housing market down here is crashing again. It wouldn’t be surprising if we had another recession I mean, he picked a climate change denier to lead the EPA,” said Gail as she flicked her cigarette into the street. “This is why we need to elect Tulsi Gabbard.”

“Yeah, anyway, I got to get going,” said Jessica, her stomach beginning to rumble from the whole-milk hot chocolate.

Jogging desperately toward a McDonald’s to use a bathroom, she was told by another old man to get out of the Country. When she finally made it to the McDonald’s it was filled with dozens of black teenagers. “They really shouldn’t be eating this crap,” she told herself as she limped toward the bathroom. There were three teenage girls waiting in line ahead of her, each casually staring at their phone and occasionally taking Snaps and playing with the filters.

It took about 10 minutes for the girls ahead of her to cycle through. When she finally arrived inside the bathroom and depants she pulled out her phone so as to occupy her mind during the act. “Fuck, only 4% battery,” she said to herself but nevertheless started to scroll through her Facebook page.

After several minutes a teenage girl started drumming on the door for her to finish, but she wasn’t close. As she scrolled through her newsfeed she saw story after story about what was going on with the Trump administration and the people he was picking to help run the Country.

The drumming on the door got louder.

“Hey, you taking a shit in there or something? I gotta pee, bitch,” laughed a young voice from outside.

As Jessica strained to finish, she read several posts about the god awful state of the world, the impeachment hearing, Taylor Swift’s feud with Scooter Braun, mass shootings, and Walter Mercado’s death.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she said to herself, farting. This is supposed to be a happy time of year. The weather is finally nice,” she said to herself when her phone ran out of battery.

As she sat there in silence, with no distraction, she could hear the girl outside the door making fun of her. “She’s been in there forever. Someone better call the health inspector.”

As she finally finished she wiped and stood up to walk outside. The sink in the bathroom was broken. Typical.

Jessica left the bathroom and passed the group of snickering teenagers.

“Ain’t she going to even wash her hands, damn!” said one to her friends.

As she walked out of the McDonald’s she recoiled from the smell of oily fries and tried to once again put all of the awful things she had been hearing and reading about out of her mind

“Is the world really this bad,” she asked herself. As she stepped outside the nice breeze once again smacked her. “No, it really isn’t that bad,” she thought, readjusted her knitted beanie, and said out loud, “I love Miami in the Winter.”