Ripped, dirty bras hang from the ceiling like ejaculate encrusted icicles. I glance to my right – a close up of a squirting vulva occupies the entirety of a 40 inch TV screen. Shifting left, another slightly less deviant variety of hardcore porn can be viewed in washed out hues. A coin pusher slot machine rests idly in a corner, various prizes resting just below the plexiglass: 1 used copy of “Redheaded Sluts”, multiple 2-inch penis extensions, and a packet of crusty lube. Meanwhile behind the bar, a mother cheers on her daughter as she takes off her shirt and bounces happily on an exercise trampoline.
Where is this amoral Palace of Hedonism and weirdness, you ask? None other than the infamous FTL haunt Bimini Bay Bar.
I was in town celebrating my quarter-century birthday when we were first tipped off about Bimini Bay by a local adventurer. A vague description and knowing smirk sent us searching the interwebs, and upon reading the six Yelp reviews (check these out for yourself), our decision was sealed to visit this divey gem.
Situated in a lonely, industrial district with almost no illumination or signage, it is easy to miss this place. Following the guidance of a confused Google Maps, we initially directed our cab driver to a chain-linked fence at the end of a dead end road. Feeling as though we might reverse “Bone Collect” him, the driver turned the car around immediately and we eventually spotted the standalone one-story building. The text ”Bimini Bay Bar” is painted next to a rather picturesque image of two palm trees in front of a setting sun. A fitting contrast to the debauchery that awaits inside.
You can reference the first paragraph to revisit first impressions. But what really sets this bar apart as uniquely sleazy, is the organic way it has devolved into it’s current state. It’s not hip or trendy in any way, nor is it trying to be. In fact, the Bay is populated by old dudes watching porn, loudmouth dart players, and raunchy families just trying to hang out. The erotic graffiti, hanging bras, and polaroid pictures adorning the walls, have clearly been amassed over many years with no thought to a decorative theme. The origin story of this establishment probably begins with two guys speculating, “wouldn’t it be cool if we could play hardcore porn in a bar?” Then they stocked a fridge with Bud Lights, threw up a dartboard, and invested in an electronic jukebox. And just like that, a dream was born.
In the end, the aforementioned trampoline enthusiast bought me a birthday shot, her mother played a spirited round of darts with us, and about 40 quarters were lost to the slots. A pretty perfect night at Bimini Bay Bar – the Sleaziest Dive Bar in South Florida.
If you enjoyed this piece by guest blogger Andres, check out his rant on America’s Backyard.
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