If you’re like me and rarely ever get your fat butt out of San Antonio, then most of your preconceived notions of “other places” come from TV, movies and video games.

Miami. Home to millionaires’ houseboats, pastel-wearing cops, really hot butts, Spanish-speaking people who are not raza (Cubans or something), Ferrari Testarossas and Fernando of radio station 98.3 FM the Emotion.
See, everything I know of Miami is derived from “Miami Vice,” “Grand Theft Auto Vice City” and “Scarface.”

It’s a pretty chill place to visit and has to be one of the most exciting locales to live. But to proclaim kingship of the whole city is crazy insane, yet Dave Hill is the “King of Miami,” 8:30 p.m. Mondays on the Mojo network.

The comedian/writer/actor/slash has left his parents’ basement in rusty old Cleveland and headed into the ways of the flamenco. The program is reminiscent of the “PM Magazine” TV shows, except entertaining and not totally stupid.

The concept: Comedian X wants a bigger slice of the famous-comedian pie. So, he does a cool but short (probably two seasons) show with an underground feel on an HD network. He makes a name and moves on, just like Bob Saget.

Enter Dave Hill. A funny, funny man. When Dave Hill is in his “zone” (and I use the word zone because it makes me feel like an important sports writer), he is so funny, you will literally laugh until you are coughing phlegm all over the place. Or maybe that is only for ex-smokers. Regardless, resistance is futile against his dry humor.

The dude sports an incredible spray-on orange-ish tan and beautiful Borat-like suit, and he drags his hairy-bum sidekick Phil everywhere he goes.

And yes, maybe he is ripping off Borat’s shtick a bit, but he’s more open and modern with his interviews, be it a butt plastic surgeon or rock-hard fitness trainer or some guy with a private plane.

Dave owns awesomeness. He is one stogie and a pair of bitchin’ casual dress shoes from being a Dark Lord of the Cool, and lines like that totally explain the “King of Miami.”