Elita Loresca stars in Miami's End of Hurricane Season Parade and Festival

City of Miami announces first annual End of Hurricane Season Parade

Today, in a ceremony at Miami City hall, mayor Manny Diaz presented Elita Loresca, the Storm Goddess, and Sir Manny Mojito and the Knights of the Mesa Redonda with a proclamation designating December 3rd as the first annual "End of Hurricane Season Parade." Ms. Loresca, former weatherperson at WSVN-Fox in Miami, will be the parade's first Queen. Sir Manny Mojito, who claims to be the King of Little H, will be the King of the parade and his Knights of the Mesa Redonda will act as the Queen's court.

"If it hadn't been for Sir Manny and his Knights of the Mesa Redonda, we're sure Miami wouldn't have been spared from a major hurricane or two this season," Manny the Mayor said. "Because of their constant vigil at the altar of the Storm Goddess, praying night and day while on their knees in chainmail, it's the least we can do for such a great group of guys."

"So why did you invite Ms. Loresca?" a New Times reporter asked.

"I can think of two reasons," the mayor replied with an unsure laugh.

"Yeah?"

The mayor motioned with his eyes toward Ms. Loresca's impossibly large and perfect breasts. So did King Manny.

The reporter shook his head sadly. "But didn't she threaten to destroy this city if Sir Manny and his knights didn't free her from her contract with Channel 7?"

The two Mannies paused and looked at each other before turning to Ms. Loresca. She looked up and smiled sweetly at them before cupping her impossibly large and perfect breasts.

They-- the two Mannies, not the Magnificent Magical Mammararies-- turned to the reporter. "Yeah, so?" they replied in unison.

"She's a fooking goddess!" Sir Belvedere of Plymouth, yelled. "She can do anything she fooking wants!"

The reporter looked away with a roll of his eyes. "Okay. Relax. Sorry I asked."

Unfortunately, Sir Belvedere saw the roll of the reporter's eyes. He pushed aside Ms. Loresca and the mayor and jumped off the podium with his broadsword drawn. The reporter, bloodied from an earlier encounter covering a similar story, turned and ran for his life.

"C'mere, you fooking mincing coward and take it like a man!" Sir Belvedere screamed.

The reporter paused for a moment and bent over. "Oh, I hope so," he said.

"Die Sodomite! Die!"

The crowd standing before the podium scattered as Sir Belvedere charged through waving his great broadsword to and fro but he was no match for the swift reporter who escaped with his life.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Diaz yelled over the din below him. "The Parade will hopefully follow every hurricane season on the first Monday in December. Besides having floats and marching bands, we'll also have floats and marching bands from New Orleans and other cities spared the Goddess of the Storm's wrath. Won't that be fun?"

No one was listening. But many were screaming and running.

"I mean, since we no longer have an Orange Bowl parade, what could be better? Or more meaningful?"

Diaz turned to Ms. Loresca. She was flashing her impossibly large and perfect breasts at Sir Manny. Transfixed, he could only stare and drool. It wasn't pretty. Diaz began to wonder if the parade was such a good idea after all.

Random Thoughts from MVB

• The race for mayor of Miami Beach has always been disappointing with its lack of ideas, but now it has also grown uglier. It appears our candidate of choice Simon Cruz has pulled off the kid gloves and is going bare knuckle against his opponent, the grandmotherly but dangerous Mattie Herrera Bower. Her side began the scuffle with a lie and now Cruz is responding with half-truths implying she's not for the Jews (her husband's Jewish) and TV ads that present Ms. Bower as someone who isn't qualified to shoulder the responsibility of the mayor's office. The TV ads show Ms. Bower over and over again admitting she doesn't have a clue when it comes to what is being presented to her at the commission meetings which is true but these spots make it look like grandma's being picked on by a much younger man. This could come back like a sucker punch in the back of the head at the polls this Tuesday. It reminds us of the beef jerky commercials. You don't mess with grandma Bower just like you don't mess with Sasquatch:
  

• We can only hope Cruz isn't hurled by the voters out of City Hall like Sasquatch hurls those idiots that are picking on him. Why? Because he's the most qualified and open minded of the two. He's open to revisiting BayLink which is probably the most important issue facing Miami Beach (but which no one running for office talks about). Unless a mass transit system is championed between the Beach and the Mainland, the quality of life will continue to be less than it could be. Only Cruz has been willing to face the inevitable-- unlike Bower who seems to fear and mistrust outright any idea that will get traffic off the streets it if means accommodating those living on the mainland. So, despite Mr. Cruz's willingness to mix it up with grandma Bower, please consider the alternative and vote Tuesday for Simon "Messin' with the SoBe Sasquatch" Cruz.
• Vote for Deede Weithorn, too, for Miami Beach commissioner. She's in a very close run off and shouldn't be. She is so qualified. Voters should have been stumbling over themselves to get her elected the first time.
• According to the Miami Herald, "More than 71,000 residential property owners in Miami-Dade and Broward failed to pay property taxes for 2006 and delinquencies are growing as costs climb and the slump deepens." The total unpaid amount: $365 million. In Miami-Dade, that's 41,544 residential property owners (one in 16 households). You don't have to be a financial guru to predict that this crisis will be as devastating as a direct hit by an Andrew-class hurricane if something isn't done to bail people out. Too bad most of these homeowners drive to and from work. What with the rising cost of gasoline, it is going to become even more difficult to pay taxes and make their mortgage payments. Now, if this region had a working commuter rail running north and south and a monorail running east and west, they could scrap their cars in favor of keeping a roof over their heads. Unfortunately, that option isn't there.
• Miami-Dade County wants to add "Miami-Dade" to Carnival Center. We're against this idea because of two things. One is aesthetics. Less is always more. The other is ethics. "Miami-Dade" is synonymous with slime, bribes, incompetence, waste, political correctness, and back-room politics. Don't make us think about that every time we look at the buildings.
• What's with all the weathermen and women retiring and skipping town? Do they know something we don't know? First it was Elita Loresca. Now, after a blatantly orchestrated and prolonged exit for retiring weatherman Don Noe that's built around getting local "celebrities" to pronounce how sad they are and how much they're going to miss him through staged video spots every night for the past two weeks, it began to dawn on us that quite possibly these weather professionals might really know something we don't. Should we be worried? Sir Manny Mojito and the Knights of the Mesa Redonda think we should. After a short break following their valiant and body breaking effort to keep hurricane Noel away from our shores, the boys in chainmail have started a 24-hour "worship-a-thon" in front of the Goddess of the Storm altar. UpDate (11/24): Now it appears that some of the people who know better when it comes to hurricanes are taking it a step further. Instead of skipping town or retiring, one of them has actually had the temerity to die on us. Herbert Saffir, who came up with the hurricane classification system known as the Saffir-Simpson Hurricane Scale, died today at the age of 90. What? He couldn't hold out until the end of hurricane season?
  

UpDate (1/10/08): This is the last post that mentioned Carnival Center. As of today, the name will change to Arsht Center for the Performing Arts because Adrinne Arsht agreed to donate $30 million and Carnival didn't have a problem with it. Ms. Arsht sold her Total Bank last year for $300 million so it's not like she's going to miss it. Now, if they can only come up with a way to get people to buy enough tickets to make it profitable.

Sir Manny Mojito, King of Little H, and the Knights of the Mesa Redonda are recognized for their unselfish devotion to saving Florida from hurricanes

"We are humbled," Sir Manny replied to the many keys of the city-- and one from the state-- that were given to him and the Knights of the Mesa Redonda for their unselfish effort in keeping south Florida and the state hurricane-free this season. The ceremony took place on the steps of the Dade County Courthouse where dignitaries agreed a parade was in order following the end of hurricane season in four weeks.

"But," Sir Manny added, "the hurricane season still isn't over yet and we mustn't be too quick to revel. Our job is far from finished. Anyway, we owe it all to Elita Loresca, Goddess of the Storm. If it weren't for her giant--"

"'Elita Loresca'?" a New Times reporter interrupted, "Didn't she skip town for greener pastures?"

"She didn't skip town," Sir Belvedere of Plymouth scolded. "She's on a quest."

"Yeah, a quest for fame and fortune."

"Sir," Sir Manny replied angrily, "I'll have you not defame the Goddess of the Storm!" He drew out his big broadsword. "Stand ready to answer for your blaspheme!"

"Whoe, dude, lighten up. You wouldn't harm an unarmed reporter would you? It's not like I'm Jeff Weinsier or something."

As it turned out, they would. But before they could-- impale the reporter, that is-- Chief Timoney stepped in and, with the intimidating authority invested in himself, escorted the man through the huge crowd to safety. How the reporter was later found dazed and confused in a back alley, his face bloodied beyond recognition, would be an unsolved mystery since the man, besides losing his dignity and a front tooth, also lost his memory.

UpDate (11/2): Noel, far out to sea, is officially a "killer hurricane" with a death toll in its wake of over 116 people.

Sir Manny Mojito and the Knights of the Mesa Redonda become depressed when they hear tropical depression Noel is headed their way

"Tropical depression Noel?" Sir Manny Mojito, King of Little H, asked in disbelief.

"It's coming our way," Sir Belvedere of Plymouth replied.

"But we've been worshipping non-stop before the Elita Loresca Storm Goddess altar since June to keep hurricanes away."

"We are not worthy."

"No wonder she skipped town."

"Talk about rubbing our un-worthiness in our own faces. She's even given it a proper British name!"

"Boy, boys," Verticus Erectvs interrupted, "it's not your fault. Your constant vigil in front of the Elita Loresca Storm Goddess altar kept us hurricane-free all these months. If anyone's to blame it's that little tart you built this altar to."

"Blasphemer!" Sir Percival screamed. Sir Belvedere had to restrain him lest he impale Verticvs with his broadsword.

Bobby Bermudez jumped in. "Verticvs is right. Elita Loresca abandoned you, you never gave up on her. Talk about old school chivalry, you, Knights of the Mesa Redonda, should be holding your heads high!"

"Must...keep...praying," Sir Belvedere mumbled as if in a trance.

And, as if well-trained monks, they turned in unison, knelt on the floor, and began to chant and pray some more. No one could persuade them to take a break from the five month long self-imposed mission. Nor would anyone try to convince them that Elita Loresca was not worthy-- especially when the weary and short tempered knights were carrying their long and very sharp broadswords.

UpDate (10/29): Pray boys, pray! It's now a tropical storm!

UpDate (10/30): Dammit! What the hell's going on over there in front of that cheezy altar? Noel's a killer on the loose and it's coming our way!

"Can...pray...no...more," one of the Knights of the Mesa Redonda moaned.

UpDate (10/31): Boys! Boys, don't give up! It seems to be working! Your unselfish devotion to the Goddess of the Storm is turning Noel away from Florida! So stop flailing yourselves with your chainmail, because you are worthy! It looks like you may have saved all of Florida!

UpDate (11/1): Success! The boys were able to shift Noel's course away from Florida! A thankful people showers them with valuable gifts and suggests a parade is in order following the end of hurricane season.

UpDate (11/2): Noel, far out to sea, has been elevated to a "killer hurricane" with a death toll in its wake of over 116 people.

Sir Manny Mojito, King of Little H, and the Knights of the Mesa Redondo say Farewell to Elita Loresca

It had been awhile since Sir Manny Mojito, King of Little H, and the Knights of the Mesa Redondo had seen Elita Loresca's disembodied impossibly large and perfect breasts. The last time was under the MacArthur Causeway bridge where they urged the boys in equally perfect stereophonic balance to take up the quest to rescue her from the Temple of the Storm Goddess, aka WSVN-Fox's Channel 7 studios. Seems management wouldn't release her from her contract. The on-air confrontation with the weather temptress landed everyone in jail where they stayed for many weeks until Verticvs Erectus, publisher of MVB, was able to raise enough money to bail them out. That weather report, thanks to YouTube, soon became one of the most viewed and most discussed videos of all time and within days, Sir Manny and the boys became known as world-class fuck-ups world-wide. Because of their shame, a vestigial personality trait rarely seen in south Florida, they elected to remain secluded in MVB's cramped offices where they sought forgiveness by praying incessantly to a make-shift altar dedicated to Ms. Loresca, Goddess of the Storm. This was also their penance because they believed that as long as they prayed to Ms. Loresca, hurricanes would be averted from south Florida. So far, no one could argue with them over that. Not even Max Mayfield, the weather swami at WSVN's rival station WPLG-ABC. And so the boys kept praying, day and night, hoping for forgiveness and a chance to regain their honor by praying away all shape and size of hurricanes.

And then the heavenly habahabas appeared.

King Manny saw them first as he kneeled and prayed in front of the altar. He heard the Storm Goddess' voice and, still in a trance, opened his eyes. They were hovering over the Bank of America building. The building had been lit up in green lights and there, floating at the top, were Ms. Loresca's impossibly large and perfect breasts.

"I must go," they said in a hushed and throaty voice, undulating slowly from side to side.

"Why?" King Manny asked.

"I am needed elsewhere," they replied. "I must save California from...everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"Even Rosie O'Donnell?"

"Almost everything."

"Can I come along?"

"Me too!" Sir Belvedere cried.

"And me!"

"Me too!"

All the Knights of the Mesa Redondo wanted to go with her and, despite their devotion, I am sorry to report some even tried to cop a feel.

"I wish you could join me," the shimmering love globes replied. "But you have a more important job to do. You must continue to pray to my very sexy picture on your altar. Only your devotion will keep hurricanes away. Can you do that?"

"Yes!" they shouted. "For you, anything!"

"Good," the marvelous mammararies mumbled. "With your devotion on the east coast and the prayers of my followers on the west coast-- and they are legion-- just maybe America and all it stands for will be saved from the ravages of the...Storm Goddess!"

At that point, thunder sounded off in the distance.

"I'm gonna miss you, Goddess of the Storm," King Manny choked.

"Call me Elita, good King Manny Mojito. And remember this, boys, I'm only a thought away-- especially if you close your eyes and rub real hard-- I mean think real hard."

"I'm already real hard," Sir Belvedere replied.

"Me too!"

"That's your broadsword, you big dummy!"

"Whoe, I guess that explains all the fookin' blood!"

"Oh," the goombahs gushed, "you are such bad boys. I love you all."

Someone, maybe more than one, started crying.

"Now don't cry. Remember when you were lost in the Redlands Forest looking for someone with a sense of humor?" the magic magumbos asked.

"Yes. And we were never able to find one. What a bummer."

"But things got better anyway, didn't they?"

"Well, yes," King Manny replied sheepishly, "especially after meeting your magnificent maracas under the bridge."

"And they will again," the tits teetered. "Just remember to look on the bright side of life and that will get you out of any forest of gloom and doom. In fact, I have a song I want you to sing and sing it you shall, in remembrance of me. When you awake from your trance, you will begin to sing as a chorus, a choir if you will. Some of you will even tap dance as you sing. In time, when things get you down, this song and dance number will set you right with the world. Now, until we meet again, sing....sing this song..."

And they did:

UpDate (8/23): Today's Herald announced Rosie O'Donnell is coming to town November 4th for the Miami Book Fair. She will be promoting her book Celebrity Detox. Sir Manny Mojito and the boys did not take this well and began taking turns self-flagellating with a cat-of-nine-tales while circling in front of the Goddess of the Storm makeshift shrine. Please note that no knights were hurt during the above incident because they were protected by their chainmail and thick linen cloaks. Although they may be prone to acting out, they do steer away from self-mutilation which is something to be thankful for considering these are grown men walking around in the hot Miami summer in suits of armor.

The Elita Loresca Quest Epilogue

Unable to post bond, Sir Manny Mojito, the King of Little H, and his Knights of the Mesa Redonda remain in jail. Whether or not they were able to save Miami from future hurricanes remains to be seen. But at least they tried which is more than can be said for most people. Until science and technology can provide the assuring comfort of myth and superstition, keep praying to MVB's Elita Loresca Hurricane Protection Altar just in case their noble effort was all in vain. Finally, in order to avoid heartache, lawsuits, and jail time, be prudent with the visions you choose to chase.

The Elita Loresca Quest Part 6

As you can see from the screenshot above, things did not go well for Sir Manny Mojito, King of Little H. Upon waking from his dream which he took as a bad omen, that the Goddess of the Storm was not happy with his performance, he successfully beseeched his Knights of the Mesa Redonda to follow him one more time to Castle Fox, Temple of the Storm Goddess. This time they approached the aging edifice from the rear via the moat under the cover of darkness. Slipping through an unguarded door used by staff to go outside to smoke, the King of Little H was able to confront the Storm Goddess while on the air. Unfortunately, management had put her under a police watch to protect her from people like King Manny and the Knights of the Mesa Redonda. Before the good but wacky king could utter two words police sprung from the shadows off camera and tackled him to the ground. Ms. Loresca was unhurt in the scuffle that followed, the Swarovski Crystal bra was returned to Moishe and his wife, and King Manny and the Knights of the Mesa Redonda, thanks to the world's insatiable need to be entertained, extended their 15-minutes of fame* by a good five minutes as they were led off to jail.

(To Be Continued)

*Since the debut of YouTube and the ability of the net to save something forever, perhaps Andy Warhol's famous assertion about our allotted time in the limelight should be updated and extended.

The Elita Loresca Quest Part 5

Thanks to YouTube, by the time King Manny and the Knights of the Mesa Redonda went to bed that night, they had become worldwide objects of scorn and ridicule. Late night talk shows had a field day depicting them as major wussies. It was impossible for the king and his knights not to flip channels and see themselves as they really were: silly men in chainmail obsessed with big breasts who still chased after windmills. So it is understandable how King Manny Mojito fell into a fitful and disturbing sleep where he dreamed Elita Loresca's most perfect and amazing breasts had become twin raging hurricanes.

The Elita Loresca Quest Part 4

"Oh, my God."

Verticvs knew this wasn't a good sign. King Manny Mojito and the Knights of the Mesa Redonda were on TV. WSVN-Channel 7, the local Miami Fox affiliate, was airing something about them on the six o'clock news. King Manny was holding up the Swarovski crystal bra. Verticvs turned up the sound.

"We demand entry to present Elita Loresca this bra," King Manny said in his unique British/Cuban accent, "so that we may rescue her, save Miami from hurricanes, and fulfill our quest."

"The group of men, all dressed like medieval knights," Craig Stevens' voice over explained, "is led by someone who calls himself, Sir Manny Mojito, the King of Little H. At first our front gate security guard thought it was some sort of stunt until the men drew their swords and threatened him."

The station cut to the security guard Manuel Molina.

"That's when I pulled out my Thunder Five and asked them if they would like to reconsider. Which they did with the king guy yelling at everyone to 'Run away! Run away!' and complaining about it not being fair. What a bunch of losers."

The station cut back to Craig Stevens and Lynn Martinez in the studio. Martinez cheered him on. "Way to go, Manuel!"

"We tried to get a statement from Elita," Stevens said, "but she was unavailable. Knowing Elita, she's probably already in bed. That 5am call time for our morning news program is a killer."

"Trust me, Craig," Martinez said, "I think I can speak for Elita when I tell you she wouldn't wear anything that tacky. In fact, the last thing we need is our weather girl running around town in a rhinestone bra. I mean, we already have enough larger than life distractions what with Shaq and Hulk Hogan living here."

"Yeah, you're right, Lynn. And it could be dangerous. Can you imagine Elita wearing that bra outside on a sunny day when she's tooling about town with the top down?"

"Holy traffic accident, Craig!"

"Actually, Elita probably shouldn't drive anywhere with the top down. Know what I mean?"

"That's for sure. Anyway, police have asked that if you see these men to give them a call. Seems that tacky bra was stolen from a downtown jewelry store and might actually be worth something."

The station cut to very bad video footage from the jewelry store surveillance camera. It showed King Manny and the Knights of the Mesa Redonda breaking the glass display case with their broadswords and running away with the Swarovski bra as Martinez continued to speak over the grainy black and white image. "Judging by the way they're dressed, it shouldn't be too difficult."

"Oy vey," Verticvs added before turning off the TV.

The Elita Loresca Quest Part 3

There beneath the locked jeweler's display case in the Seybold building in downtown Miami lay the fabled crystal bra!

"How much?" Sir Manny asked as the Knights of the Mesa Redonda, all eager to see the object of their quest, bunched up behind the King of Little H and pushed him against the display case.

Moishe, the jeweler, shrugged. "It's not cheap. It's a one of a kind. That isn't your everyday cut glass, you know."

"Yes, I know. Swarovski crystals and all that. All the way from Austria. How much? Stop shovin'!"

Moishe paused and looked at the motley crew. He admired the delicate work of the chainmail and noted the semi-precious stones embedded in the hilts of their swords and, of course, he wondered if King Manny's crown was solid gold. He hoped they might be as rich as they were insane. "Fifty thousand dollars," he said with an apologetic shrug.

"Fifty thousand dollars?" King Manny and the Knights of the Mesa Redonda cried.

"Hey, what can I tell you, it's a one of a kind." Moishe paused and looked around before motioning King Manny to come closer. "Famous bosoms have filled it," he whispered with a knowing nod of his head.

"Famous bosoms?" Manny and the Knights responded loudly.

Moishe pushed away and looked around. Some woman was glaring at him from a perch above the display cases. He smiled weakly up at her and offered a jaundiced wave of his hand. "Smile to the wife," he whispered through clenched teeth, "and maybe I can work out a deal."

King Manny and the Knights of the Mesa Redonda smiled and waved at the woman but she just sadly shook her head and turned away.

Moishe was still looking at his wife when he whispered, "Elizabeth Taylor once wore it."

"Elizabeth Taylor?" they all shouted once again. The boys are big fans of their fellow Brit.

Moishe froze. His wife's eyes had narrowed into little slits. He gave her one of those "please forgive me, honey, for being such a goddamn fool" kinda smiles. She turned away in a huff. Moishe turned back to the Men of the Mesa Redonda. "Look, gentlemen," he whispered, "a whole bunch of famous tits have occupied this bra. It comes with a pedigree. Now if you can't afford it, perhaps you might be interested in something else. Perhaps a...small tiara?"

"A small tiara?" one of the knights exclaimed. "Does he look like he needs a fooking small tiara?"

"What's going on here, Moishe?"

The men jumped. They hadn't seen the wife coming.

"Darling," Moishe gushed, "these men wanted to buy the Swarovski bra."

"Wanted'?" she said intimidatingly. "Can't you afford it? What kind of king are you anyway?"

"I'm a king on a budget."

"Then try K-Mart."

As she turned away, Moise grabbed her arm. "Dear, these men are on an important quest. Without the bra, hurricanes will come and Elita Loresca the Storm Goddess--"

"'Elita Loresca'? I should have known. You men are all alike. It's pathetic. Are you idiots trying to buy this bra for her?"

"Yes," King Manny said, "in order to save Miami from hurricanes and to free a young and innocent maid who--"

"Boys," Moishe's wife said, "this bra isn't big enough for Ms. Loresca's love bubbles. You need the No. 9."

"The 'No. 9'?" King Manny asked.

"The No. 9. It's the first bra for the surgically endowed. You can get it at Nordstrom."

"Are you implying the Storm Goddess' gongas aren't genuine?"

"They're too round. It's the first sign someone's been foolin' around with Mother Nature."

"Heresy!" one of the knights shouted. "Heresy I say!"

"You are an evil wench and not worthy of protecting the bra!" another knight screamed and before anyone could say 'stop,' a broadsword smashed through the glass display case and a hand protected by a steel guantlet snatched the fabled crystal bra. Alarms rang, the Moishes screamed, and King Manny yelled "Run away! Run away!" and the Knights of the Mesa Redonda and their king who lives for the quest ran out of the building scattering passerbys with raised swords, flapping cloaks, and shouts about freedom and hurricanes.

(To Be Continued)

The Elita Loresca Quest Part 2

"I hate to tell you this, King Manny," Verticvs whispered, "but this ain't no map to the Temple of the Storm Goddess."

"But it came from her very own disembodied bosom."

The Knights of the Mesa Rendonda were milling about the cramped MVB office, downing mojitos and backing into things with their broad swords. Verticvs didn't want them to overhear what he was about to say to King Manny.

"Dude," Verticvs whispered, "maybe you and the boys ought to cut back on the mojitos. I mean, c'mon, a disembodied, floating, talking matched set?"

"It's true! We all saw it."

"I'm sure you did, especially after all that drinking you guys did last night."

"Then how do you explain my map?"

"I think someone's pulling your chainmail. This is a picture of Channel 7 where Elita Loresca works."

Sir Manny paused. "Why does a TV station need a moat?"

"It's Biscayne freaking Bay, for crisesakes. And that's the 79th Street Causeway running in front of it."

Sir Manny paused some more. "So, I guess those aren't watchtowers?"

Verticvs nodded.

"And there's no drawbridge? Or guards?"

"Guards, yeah, but no drawbridge."

Verticvs could see the leader of men who lived for quests was crestfallen. "But that should make it easier for you, right?"

Sir Manny was lost in thought. "I'm sorry?"

"I mean you won't need to storm the castle, so to speak. You can go right up to her and hand her the," Verticvs paused to bracket the next words in quotation marks with his fingers, "'fabled crystal bra'. Right? No need for any bloodshed, that's always a good thing."

"Do you think they'll let me hand it to her?"

"I don't see why not. As long as you and the boys check your swords and weapons at the door. Hell, knowing Channel 7, they'll probably even put you on TV."

"Really?"

"You can count on it."

"So where can I find the fabled crystal bra?"

"The one the talking tatties told you I once held in my very own hands?

"Exactly."

"Jeese-Louise, that was a while back. It was for a story I was doing for a magazine. I never met the guy who owned it. He was a jeweler in the downtown Miami diamond district. But it shouldn't be hard to find. Everybody knows everybody down there. And King Manny, those sparkly things on top of the bra, the ones the talking tatas couldn't pronounce, they're called Swarovski crystal. It's expensive imported Austrian cut glass."

"Cut glass?" Manny Mojito, King of Little H, seemed disappointed.

"Yeah, but it's real expensive. Chicks dig it for some reason."

"Elita Loresca is no chick," he reminded Verticvs. "She's a goddess."

"Well, she's something else, that's for sure."

"She's a goddess," Sir Manny repeated in a louder voice, "and I'm on a quest for her."

"And so are we!"

Verticvs looked around and saw the Knights of the Mesa Redonda holding their mojitos and swords high in the air toward Sir Manny. Sir Manny drew his own sword and touched the sword tips.

"Before we set forth," he said with deep import, "we must first worship the goddess."

They turned to the makeshift Elita Loresca Hurricane Protection Altar in the office, kneeled before it, flipped on the audio omming device, and joined it in a mixture of communal bliss and intoxication. Verticvs didn't know whether to be alarmed or impressed.

(To Be Continued)

Elita Loresca the Storm Goddess Issues a Quest through her Floating, Talking Tatas

Last night began like any Monday night for Sir Manny and his Knights of the Mesa Redonda. They were drinking mojitos beneath the MacArthur Causeway bridge and casting their nets for shrimp when they saw the vision. At first the men thought it was the full moon but it kept growing larger and larger and within moments was floating toward them across Biscayne Bay.

"It's Glinda!" someone shouted.

Sir Manny and the boys applauded and jumped up and down in anticipation like silly school girls, rattling their chainmail against their armor to such an extent that it sounded like thunder rolling across the water. They liked Glinda. She was pretty. And had a sweet voice. And a girlish laugh. They missed that kind of woman in Miami; in these modern times. They last saw her in Oz where she was known as the "Good Witch of the North" and traveled in a glowing globe. But, as the apparition grew nigh, they shuddered and turned away, hiding their eyes from what they could all see was clearly not the wholesome Glinda. Instead, hovering before their eyes, tempting their manhood with lascivious thoughts, was the impossibly large and perfect breasts of the Storm Goddess, Elita Loresca!

"Run away!" Sir Manny shouted. "Run away!"

"Halt!"

And they did for it isn't every day you hear tits talk.

They turned slowly, in unison, fearful for what they may find, fearful they may fail one more temptation.

"I am the amazingly large and perfect breasts of the Storm Goddess, Elita Loresca! Bow down before me!"

They fell to the ground and shook in their armor, rattling against the rocks beneath the bridge with the intensity of a Buddy Rich drum roll.

"Mercy, oh great Magumbos!" Sir Manny beseeched. "We are but mortal men and cannot resist such temptation!"

"Forget about my magnificent mammararies," the boobs boasted over the roar of a semi passing overhead. "Fools that you be, focus on the message!"

"The cleavage?" Sir Manny asked with trembling voice.

"The message, you dumbkoff!"

"The message?" Sir Manny asked as he raised his head oh so carefully to look at the remarkable rack.

"Rise, Sir Manny, King of Little H. Only you are worthy to gaze upon my super sweater swellers up close and personal."

"Me?"

"Yes, you! Only you were brave enough to take a peek at my pneumatic knockers."

Sir Manny rose unsteadily to his feet. He had a silly grin on his face, his eyebrows were jumping.

"Step closer!"

Sir Manny, perhaps because of the mojitos, maybe because of the many rocks scattered willy-nilly under the bridge, tripped and stumbled into the fabulous funobagos.

"Uh ma gah!"

His muffled scream rose from between the double-d's but he couldn't free himself. It was as if someone or some thing was squishing the dangerous Dagmars against both sides of his face.

"I can no breathe!" he gasped, sounding a lot like Scotty from Star Trek.

"Shut up and listen!" the bombastic Berthas boomed. "Elita Loresca is in danger! She is being held against her will in her own temple by...Management!"

"No, not management!" one of the knights shouted.

"Yes, Management!" the congas continued. "The only way they will let her go is if she returns the fabled crystal bra!"

"Da 'fabled crystal bwa'?" Sir Manny asked from the muffled depths of the bra's décolletage.

"The fabled crystal bra."

"But how can she do that if they won't let her leave her temple?" one of the knights asked.

"That's where you come in," the sisters intoned darkly. "Elita is threatening Miami with a hurricane unless they let her out of her contract and until they do, she's not doing anybody any favors. So, if you want to save Miami from a hurricane and free Elita from her prison, you must undertake a quest for the Goddess of the Storm!"

"Oh, no," one of the knights of the Mesa Redonda moaned from his position on the ground. "Not another fooking quest?"

"I HEARD THAT!"

The tatas were in such a titter, whipping Sir Manny's head back and forth as if it were already in a hurricane, that the crown he always wore even when he slept, was knocked asunder. It arced across the night sky and fell onto the rocky pavement with the sound only a cheap gold plated ring can make.

"Never question the kazoos nor doubt the truth the titties speak!"

"Neva! Neva!" Sir Manny managed to muffle through the whiplashing from the wahwahs. "Wha is it you wan?"

The shaking shebas suddenly stopped and let go of Sir Manny's head. Dizzy, he unintentionally grabbed the Garbos to keep from falling and...fell in love.

Although he couldn't see them just yet because he was having a hard time focusing, he knew he had his hands on something special and a silly smile began to grow across his blind man's face as he slowly settled to his knees. His eyes, wider than an astronaut on a space shuttle launch, were averted, lost in carnal pleasure and fantasy. His lips began to tremble as he drooled and made funny, less than kingly sounds, sounds perhaps a pimply faced, hormonally out of control teenage boy might make upon touching his first breast. When his eyesight and his equilibrium returned, the first thing he saw were the humongous ho-hahs in his hands and from that point on he was officially gaga over the gagas.

"Sponge cakes of love," he said with an insipid smile as his eyeballs rolled upward beneath his eyelids. He squeezed the Chiquitas one more time and when they grew larger in his hands, he fell deeper under their spell. "Your wish is my command," he struggled to say as he fought to focus on the fabulous female frontal flesh fins.

Thelma and Louise took turns talking. "Your quest..." Thelma said into his left hand, pausing for Louise to finish the sentence in his right, "is to bring back the bra."

Sir Manny's eyes started to flutter. "The...The bra?"

"The bra," the girls responded through both hands in stereophonic harmony, "the bra Verticus once held in his own hands."

"Verticus?" Hearing his name brought a picture of the publisher up from memory and that image shook him out of his Rabelaisian reverie.

"The bejeweled bra made from Swarvosky...Swakosky...Swarviski..." The pink nosed puppies all cute and cuddly were having a hard time pronouncing the word and, as they struggled to say it, the motion they made beneath the brassiere tickled Sir Manny's palms and he started to laugh.

"DO YOU THINK SOMETHING'S FUNNY?"

Sir Manny yanked his hands away and looked at his palms. They were bleeding from two small holes, holes that could only have been made from the friction caused by...spinning drill bits!

"WELL DO YA, BUB?"

Sir Manny looked at the Storm Goddess' bra. He could see the nipples spinning angrily behind it. He gulped and tried to smile.

"No mam--mar--mamararies--MAM!," he managed to say.

"GOOD!" both yayas yelled. "Now go find Verticus. He once held the bejeweled bra right here beneath this bridge. Get it and bring it to the Temple of the Storm Goddess."

"Where's that?"

"Here." The magical mambos motioned for Sir Manny to come closer. "Don't be afraid. We won't bite." They started laughing and bouncing up and down out of sync, following the rhythms of their own personalities. "Take the map."

Before he could say, "What map?" a piece of folded paper inched forward out from beneath Thelma's side of the bra.

"TAKE IT!" Thelma snapped.

Sir Manny jumped and before he knew it, had his hand on the map and was ready to pull it away when the once gentle sweater puppies turned on him and snipped at his hand. Sir Manny screamed and fell back onto the rocky road beneath the bridge and looked up at the barking boodoos.

"WOOF! WOOF!" the bra buddies barked and then growled and then laughed so hard they almost popped out of their Vickies, nearly exposing their secrets to the world.

And then, without so much as a good-bye, the jones inducing jugs of pain and pleasure disappeared like a spent balloon zig-zagging back and forth across the night sky before vanishing on an echoing laugh.

Sir Manny could feel his heart racing beneath his chainmail and thought maybe he had just awakened from a dream. When he raised his hand to his heart and saw the map in his hand he knew he hadn't been dreaming and that he wasn't in Kansas anymore or even in Oz because no one has ever spoken to Totos (except for maybe Dorothy) and Totos have never spoken back.

"Alas," he said with a sigh, "I'm back in Miami on another quest where Manchesters mouth off and a goddess wants a bra."

(To Be Continued)

Just In Time For Hurricane Season: The Elita Loresca Hurricane Protection Altar!

The Elita Loresca Hurricane Protection Altar

Compliments of Miami Vision Blogarama!

MVB has been worshipping at the Elita Loresca Hurricane Protection Altar since the beginning of last hurricane season. Used in conjunction with an audio omming device (see above), it seemed to work. Although we make no guarantees, we're offering it up FREE to our loyal readers just in time for hurricane season!

With all the hurricanes predicted for this year, we figured we should spread the praying around because, man, it was way too much responsibility for guys like us. To be honest with you, after drinking Father Al's blessed mojitos from the sacramental dragon chalice donated by Sir Manny, once we kneeled in front of our favorite local weather girl, we just couldn't focus on our prayers. As a group, the MVB staff is a sad lot of shallow men steeped in feeling guilty for just about everything and knowing our lack of focus might cause a hurricane to come your way-- which would, of course, heap more guilt upon us-- we decided to spread the responsibility-- and guilt-- around. So...

CUT! PASTE! PRINT! WORSHIP!

It couldn't get any easier.

And remember, if a big one comes our way, you have only yourself to blame.

A Boner for the Weather

Well, it's already started. 24-hour hurricane coverage on local Miami TV. At this time, Ernesto is still a tropical storm somewhere over Cuba for crisesakes. They can't even wait until it turns into a full-fledged hurricane before they trot out their latest technological gizmos to show us how it looks in 3D. Television as we once knew it has been preempted for the latest news on some guy buying plywood in Home Depot. WPLG, the local ABC affiliate, cut Charlie Gibson off at the knees. We never got to see the national news because it was much more important to see how people were behaving in Key West (they were drinking). Some call this the "Mean Season." To MVB, it's the "Slice and Dicey Season." Why? When local TV starts covering hurricanes ad infinitum, after a while, you just want to walk into the kitchen, pull out a knife and end it all. Whether you do it or not is the "dicey" part: it depends if WSVN-Fox's Elita Loresca is giving the update. She's worth hanging around for.*

*Please note that MVB apologizes in advance if we offended any women or men who took offense at our "objectifying" women. If we did-- and we are not so sure we did-- this is the first time and we feel very ashamed but sometimes a stronger primeval urge still calls to us across the broad landscape of political correctness and, despite our best efforts, we just can't say "no" to a good, albeit shallow, joke. As a group of men, we need to be spanked. If there were any women working here, we would at least have offered up a worthy weatherman, but there aren't, so there. It is also with great regret that we ran the top photo of the weatherman with a boner for the weather. Please forgive us.