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Known alternately as “Reading Week” and “Breeding Week” Spring Break is a seven-day Girls Gone Wild video just waiting to happen. I got to live the wet dream for the first time back in 1999 when five buddies and I crammed ourselves into my Datsun hatchback and headed down to Fort Lauderdale.

As luck would have it, the hotel we were staying at was home to the MuchMusic Spring Break Experience, a five-day live broadcast sponsored by “The Nation’s Music Station.” Several of the channel’s VJ’s were on hand to host a series of alcohol-fueled activities beginning the moment we rolled out of bed every day at 2:00 p.m.

It didn’t take us long to join the debauchery (a dozen Budweisers is all). The first, and most memorable, activity I participated in was a banana-eating contest. A VJ randomly partnered me up with a gorgeous blonde from Michigan named Tiffany. Blonde and statuesque, Tiffany’s sweater kittens were desperately trying to claw their way out of her pink string bikini. The moment I laid eyes on her I not only knew there was a God, I was positively certain that he was a tit man. Tiffany and I each started with an opposing end of a whipped cream-covered banana in our mouths and were instructed to eat our way to the center without using our hands.

When the whistle blew we went at it like drunken monkeys, devouring the fruit in two bites. By the time we got to the center we dropped all pretense of competition and starting sucking face like our GPAs depended on it. We greedily probed each other with our tongues and then our hands as a cameraman closed in on the action. There were five other couples in the competition but we were the ones getting all the attention.

It was a great piece of footage, and the one station played over and over again. As a matter of fact they liked it so much they spliced it into a Spring Break montage that they played during each and every commercial break.

All of which would have been great… had I been single. While I was out partying, my girlfriend of two years was sitting alone in her apartment in Montreal watching me swap spit with a poor man’s Pamela Anderson. By the time I returned home three days later she had let herself into my apartment and taken it upon herself to “redecorate.” My posters had been slashed, my plates had been smashed and she had spray-painted “SLUT” in big, bold-letters on my bedroom wall.

The aftermath wasn’t pretty. I never got my girlfriend back and I ended up having to eat off of paper plates for the rest of the semester. But on the positive side, I still have irrefutable video evidence of the hottest chick I ever hooked up with.

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