Wikipedia defines Naples as a city in Collier County, Florida. For those of you unfamiliar with Naples, it lies in between Miami (to the east) and Fort Myers (to the north). The beach is located on the coast of the Gulf of Mexico that stretches more than 10 miles, and is noted for its cleanliness and pristine white sand. The name Naples caught popularity from tourists when promoters described the bay as surpassing the bay in Naples, Italy. As having ventured to both spots, I will sincerely say: Fuck Wikipedia, they have officially gorged themselves retarded. Anyway, it was the location Dave and I chose for our spring break rendezvous. The night life in Naples is pretty lame, but we weren’t down there to get trashed every night of the week.
Sike!!! To be blunt, this low-key town was in no way, shape, or form ready for the outlandish antics we were about to unleash in public. Needless to say, I am a fresh 23 years old going on 16, fuck, make that 9. Trying to avoid all of the adolescent collegiate bullshit on spring break, we did just the opposite.
The majority of the time was spent drinking heavily, gorging anything edible, reading Vonnegut, and crushing Blue Bell Ice Cream, but Sunday night (day before Patty’s) was probably the most epic night down there. We started the night in classic Dave style, laying a foundation: spinach linguine with garlic, chicken, and tiger shrimp drenched in extra virgin, which was absolutely gorgeable. I kept it collegiate with the ultimate beverage choice of Admiral Nelson (knockoff Captain) and a two-liter of Fuller’s preferred bed-wetting potion. After dinner was finished, so was the liquor. We were stupid full and fairly drunk. After cleaning up we met up with our driver Tom, your typical Jersey shore guy who absolutely adores cocaine and pussy. He cruised us over to the Naples Beach and Golf Resort for a Sunday Barbie on the beach, which happens to be the only thing to do in Naples on a Sunday night and the highlight of the week for the elderly locals.
So after we arrive at the resort we hustle to the bar to enhance our buzz. Dave orders two Grey-Goose/Tonics and two shots of Patron. I order a round of beers to give the old liver a breather. It’s half time and she is definitely struggling at this point. Catching a heavy buzz on my barstool and scoping the scenery for 10’s (sluts) and 12’s (super sluts), I could already tell this night was going to be gnarly. Then we meet two fat guys from Minnesota who own car dealerships and they’re buying us drinks left and right. These guys got money, I don’t, so we’re ordering top shelf on their tabs. Why top shelf? Fuck, why not. We ain’t paying for the shit. At this point, I easily have five drinks in front of me and feel like a little kid in a FREE candy store, or Grady in a FREE taqueria.
After killing the booze and shooting the shit with these deutschbags for a while, we meet some 10’s. One girl named Marina (like where you dock your fucking boat) and another girl whose name I can’t remember who happened to resemble a petite field mouse. Let’s just call her Stuart Little. These girls were with their parentals, didn’t do drugs, and we could definitely tell that they were not trying to get pregnant by two guys who claimed to work the night shift for the City of Naples Street Department – Asphalt Crew to be specific.
So after meeting these 10’s we decided to drag this party to the local bar a couple miles outside of Naples. We left Stuart Little behind and brought the boat bitch with us. At this point (9:00) I am without a doubt blacked out trying to flag down a cab in front of the resort. Unsuccessful with a cab, we end up meeting five random guys from Boston who are there on business and are just as trashed as we are. These guys are easily in their mid-30s and definitely hate their wives. They hail a cab and we pile in it chugging liquor all the way to this joint. At this point everyone from Boston thinks my name is “Jonesy” and is convinced I am 16, on spring break with my parents, and attempting to sneak into the bar we’re headed to. I am by far the drunkest in the van and for some reason everyone seemed to think I was rather amusing.
We finally arrive at Castaways, a local dive/biker-bar, and I get in after showing four forms of ID. Once we get in, Dave and Marina are sucking face; standard Dave when he’s drunk. I had a different plan in mind rather than making out with some random named after a fucking port within a harbor where boats are kept in the water. Anyway, the guys from Boston practically carried me in and told me once we got to the bar that I was on their tab the whole night. Instantly my dick became engorged with blood. I immediately rushed to the bar and acted as if I were 21. I ordered non-stop tequila shots the rest of the night until my vision was severely blurred. When I wasn’t at the bar, I spent a good portion of the night singing karaoke with a bunch of drunken clowns from Boston and hillbilly biker babes from the outskirts of Naples. The song I Would Walk 500 Miles by The Proclaimers comes to mind.
After several songs and drinks I decided it was a great idea to leave everyone behind and go play in the parking lot of the bar. After scoping the scene out for a while, the first toy I stumble upon is a Naples Police golf cart. After deliberating for a solid 20 minutes what I was going to do with the golf cart when I jacked it was this: Grab Dave, tell Marina to go back to the fucking harbor where she belongs, and cruise to the closest 7-11, which is easily a couple miles away in which we would risk everything to gorge a couple Cuban's and to pick up brew and smokes for the a.m.
Unfortunately Dave stopped me from stealing the golf cart and we went out like a horde of vagina's and got a cab. We did make it to 7-11 though; right after I cussed out the Jamaican cabby because he charged us. Apparently it should have been free that night. Fuck, it should be free every fucking night. The next thing I remember is waking up in a KANG size bed (not KING size) next to Dave tearing ass and with several Cuban grill stains on my flannel and no dinero.
Naples. Unless you’re drunk, you don’t belong.
Jonesy signing off.
Any Party
