What better way to kick off a road trip than with a free Red Bull handout on the beach.
The day's destination has barely been entered into the GPS before the first McPalaces slide into view. These ostentatious monuments hearken back to a better time, back when foreclosures only happened in trailer parks and ponzi schemer was something you could proudly enter in the occupation section of your yacht club application.
No snowshoes required here folks. Heck, even the bikini tops are optional.
Fort Lauderdale beach is deserted, probably because all the other poor n'easterners are still snowed in at Newark/JFK/La Gaurdia.
Beachfront cafes don't come any better than the Casablanca. It's hard to find a decent fish n' chips in the US of A, but lo and behold, it's a Christmas miracle! So what if fish n' fries doesn't have quite the same ring to it?
Team J00ster soaking up all the rays they can before the long hibernation begins. It's hard to get a tan from the twinkling Christmas lights on Fifth Avenue.
Next stop, the Florida Keys, a string of islands that stretch off the tip of Florida like the jeweled necklace Mei isn't getting for Christmas. These low-lying isles are covered with lush mangrove groves punctuated by an intricate network of waterways that weave between the exposed roots. Needless to say, the best way to explore is by water.
Which coincidentally is also the best way to be eaten by a crocodile. By the time you see it, it will be too late.
Hmph, I can easily outrun those logs with limbs.
Believe it or not, there's actually paddling happening on the forecastle.
Don't worry, just because the adventurers made it out of the Keys alive doesn't mean the crocs won't have a second chance to put an end to this drivel in a singularly violent episode of jugular evisceration. Next stop, the Everglades.
A pesky flock of vultures is preying on the rubber lining of car windows in the parking lot. Rock shows them who's on top of the food chain round here.
The Everglades is a avian superhighway. It's impossible to walk even a few feet without stumbling across another species.
Incoming! It starts as an innocent ripple in the calm water. Followed by the ominous shadow of something just below the surface.
Of course, such populist scaremongering is precisely the reason these magnificent creatures where hunted almost to extinction. In fact, despite their fearsome visage they're actually more scared of people. Except for Rock of course.
Lucky for this chap, the gators prefer fish.
The king of the pond can sleep wherever he darn well pleases. As every second bumper sticker seems to pronounce, this is gator territory.
Wakey, wakey. Where's a Crimson Tide banner when I need one?
Time to leave nature behind for some hedonistic artificiality. Miami Beach here we come! For once Rock is actually in the right lane.
Race ya to the lights!
Ahhh... forget the snow and ice, this is the good life.
At least they can't foreclose the beach.
So much for forgetting the snow and ice... that water seems to be coming straight from the Central Park reservoir.
A touch of the Mediterranean in Miami. Which way to the pizza?
Lucky you are going to be wrapped up in a coat for the next four months. Out here such indulgences land you on E!'s worse beach bodies countdown.
Finally, a cocktail glass that meets Mei's specifications.
Apparently if you watch Keeping up with the Kardashians you will get this. So if you have no idea what this is all about, then count yourself very, very lucky.
Oh that's right, the Miami Dolphins play just down the road. Sure beats having to plow through snow drifts just to get a first down.
There's always something incongruous about Christmas in the tropics. Kind of like Team J00ster trying to fit in among the bling on Ocean Drive.
See this pretender? You can spot him a mile away. How? Well for starters if he was actually cool/famous/rich you wouldn't see him at all because he'd be safely ensconced in a tinted Hummer sandwiched between two 300 lb bodyguards.
Tick tock, tick tock... someone's nearing the big three oh.
By now you'd think the paparazzi would have realized they're fakes. Oh that's right, these days being completely un-fameworthy is the quickest way to stardom.
Yellow is in on the strip.
Mei hails her chauffeur. Unfortunately the Ferrari is in the shop, so he rolls up in a crappy Chevy Cobalt.
Note to self: when snow reaches 24 inches, set this as screensaver.
Room with a view. Rock is disappointed to discover that Bondi-style sunbathing appears to be limited to warmer months.
Last stop on the glamor trail: Palm Beach. You know you're dealing with some serious wealth when the boat moored out back the house has more rooms than an Upper East Side penthouse.
You wonder why they don't just go ahead and pave the Main Street in gold. If you sell anything under 600 bucks, then don't bother opening a shop here.
The strict building code dictates that everything has a faux Mediterranean riviera vibe, complete right down to the obnoxious rich folks strutting up and down the street just to be seen.
Finally something we can afford: a cup of coffee.
Cute poses won't disguise the fact you're... shock horror... not wearing a Chanel bag!
Such antics are likely to get you shipped out in short order. Of course, crashing your Cadillac into a fire hydrant while being attacked with golf clubs is perfectly ok, so long as it happens behind the nicely manicured wall of your gated community.
Since they're so into they whole Italian vibe, you wonder why they all don't just hop in their private jets and cruise on over to the real thing. Oh wait, that would require leaving the botox salon.
All good things come to a piggy end.
