Cheap guys love cheap margs at Caramba

There’s a certain type of guy you meet in Scottsdale — you know the one. He drives a leased truck with unpaid tickets, wears white sunglasses indoors, and thinks a “good deal” is a watered-down margarita that costs less than a gas station burrito. His natural habitat? Caramba.

Caramba isn’t a restaurant. It’s a sanctuary for cheap men with cheaper taste buds. The kind of place where you’ll find dudes bragging about “two-for-one margs” that taste like melted Otter Pops and lighter fluid. They sip their plastic cups of regret, squint through the fluorescent lighting, and call it “authentic.”

Let’s be real: nothing about Caramba’s margaritas is remotely good. The lime mix is straight from a jug, the tequila is whatever they could buy in bulk at Costco, and the salt rim looks like it was applied by someone with vertigo. Yet, somehow, these guys sit there — grinning, nodding, convinced they’ve hacked the system.

They’re the same ones who’ll drop $400 on bottle service to impress strangers, but brag about how their $5 Caramba margarita “hits.” It doesn’t hit. It barely taps. It tastes like someone whispered “tequila” over a cup of green Gatorade.

There’s something poetic about it, though — the cheap guy’s eternal loyalty to cheap drinks. He’s not here for flavor. He’s here for validation. To prove that bad decisions can be justified with a “great deal.”

So here’s to you, kings of Caramba. Keep chasing those neon-green dreams, one sad slushie at a time. You’re not drinking margaritas — you’re drinking denial, on the rocks.