We start out with a close-up on some woman’s dewy lips as she starts the trademark whistling of the song, then we cut to aerial shots of some seaside village that looks way too expensive for me. Then a helpful revolving sign lets us know that we’re in Acapulco, and my first thoughts are “Do people still go to Acapulco? Did I miss a memo?” But before anybody can text me with an update, we cut to a shot of Flo Rida on top of a cliff and not wearing a shirt, so it appears that Acapulco still has some sights to see.
Flo Rida is doing something with his hands, and it might be important, but I’m distracted by something to the side of him that appears to be a small house for a very religious dog. (This might get me in trouble, but I’m just calling it as I see it.) But before anybody from the SPCA can give me a call, we zip over to somewhere that has lots of women wearing very skimpy bathing suits. It appears that they like to run around in the lapping waves on a beach, and it also appears that the cameraman capturing all this likes to shove his lens right up into the dripping booties of the energetic nymphets.
Brief bit with Flo Rida whistling in a manner that indicates he might be notifying his staff that fresh meat is on the horizon. This can be interpreted in a number of ways, but we really don’t have time for that. Then we roll into a montage where Flo Rida is sitting on a bed in a sandy place where a bed shouldn’t be, while a bevy of beauties splash around in salty water and pretend to have small orgasms. (Would it be rude of me to point out that there don’t seem to be any men in the salty place? Because there aren’t any that I can see. Is this a special episode of Xena?)
But before we can determine the orientation of the guest models, we start getting more aerial shots, this time of fascinating swimming pools expensively-constructed atop the cliffs of Acapulco. Then we zip back to Sapphic Bay where the women can’t stop themselves from splashing water all over their glistening bodies, dress size negative 2. Apparently you are not allowed into the city limits of Acapulco if you actually eat food.
Next up are some men standing on one of the cliffs and determining how they are going to leap into the sea. This is something that has never appealed to me. Why you wanna schlep your ass up a mountain and then free-fall? Especially with that “oh, and you might mess up and kill yourself” angle. I’m not signing up for that excursion. Ever. But the dumbasses leap for Jesus anyway.
Brief shot of a woman whistling underwater. That’s real, right?
This kicks off another montage of Flo Rida doing whatever he’s doing with his hands, random female lips whistling , further examples of how saltwater can make women incredibly horny, and more designer shots of those swimming pools that nobody with a blue-collar job can ever afford. And more scenes with Flo Rida on that misplaced bed, snapping pics of the women with his phone and then posting them. Because that kind of behavior shows real respect for women, doesn’t it?
Then again, how can a woman demand any respect when she’s wearing a “bathing suit” consisting of a few croutons and some dental floss? So I guess it works both ways. Well, not really. Because when was the last time you watched a male run around in a music video wearing less clothing than the day he was born? That’s what I thought.
Anyway, we roll into a sequence with one of the Crouton Women riding a horse on the beach. Why she would want to do this, it’s not clear, and I think the video producers must have realized the pointlessness because we quickly cut to some night-time beach party where everybody is throwing confetti in the air like they just don’t care. We pan through some hanging piñatas, and then we get a gratuitous shot of a woman’s breasts. (There’s a psychological issue worth exploring.) But before we can contact Dr. Freud in the afterlife, we cut back to a random series of more women throwing confetti about, most of them piñata-endowed and all of them showing signs of alcohol consumption.
Then somebody does something that causes sparks to fall down on the undulating gathering of mostly women, with a sprinkling of now-shirted Flo and a few non-threatening, non-ovulating males who happened to make a wrong turn while drunkenly searching for a cantina that was still open. At first, everybody is waving their arms over their heads like the cast members of “Lost” spotted a crop-dusting plane that might rescue them.
But before we can re-write the crappy ending of that TV series, somebody jump-starts this weird machine that is colorful but useless, and the women go completely insane with the desire to shove their bootays at the camera. Seriously, that saltwater jacked something up in a big way, because the ladies seem hell-bent on ruling the world with their double bubble.
Then, due to some clearly poor editing, we shift back to things happening in the daytime. The lusty nymphs are once again doing the splashing thing, Flo Rida is back on that bed that doesn’t make any sense, and we still don’t understand the religious doghouse. Oh wait, it’s nighttime again, on the beach with the confetti and the Burning Man-tribute machine that whirls around for no reason. One of the Booty Women has reviewed the menu and decided she wants her some Flo Rida for takeout. Flo decides that this is one doggy-bag he’s happy to jump into, and they wander off, presumably to do something with piñatas…
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