Panama City Beach
Having come in at 8th on the NY Daily News ‘Trashiest Places to go on Spring Break’ we knew we were in for a treat heading to Panama City Beach. It didn’t disappoint, in fact as a friend pointed out, it made similar European destinations like Malia look as tranquil as Old Town Venice and Magaluf look like a stroll round the Docks with Diggers dad.
Approaching the hotel, situated right on the beach, was like entering a war zone, corpses of last nights casualties lay unmoving on their towels amid heaps of beer cans like discarded artillery shells. A high pitched scream could be heard at all hours of the day throughout Panama City, people enjoying themselves to such an extent that their lungs and vocal chords become simply uncontrollable, a sight I haven’t seen since the beach scene in ‘Saving Private Ryan.’ The resulting ‘Woooo!’ will stay with me forever.
Low flying planes skirt the battlefield but instead of peppering the revelers with machine gun fire they dragged hundred foot condom adverts which, in pretty much these words, said “Trojan: why aren’t you f*cking?”
The whole place is like a giant misogynistic sex conveyor belt. The premise being women in bikinis dance on stages and men, who look like they’ve pumped themselves up with a foot pump like you would a lilo, stand and watch. The lucky few men that entice a woman off stage leave with their chests pumped out whilst the many who don’t (the male/female ratio is hugely disproportionate) are left deflated. That is providing there is not a strong offshore breeze in which case most of the lilo men are blown out to sea and float off into the distance to be picked up by the coastguard.
My favorite moment of the trip was the Spinnaker Bar Miss Spring Break competition. Eight girls stood on stage with a Spinnaker T-shirt on, were each asked a question like ‘What would be your perfect date?’ and then were given ten seconds to whip off the shirt and shake their ass to the crowd. If that is not a fair way to settle any competition I don’t know what is! But when a buxom blonde from Texas was asked the question ‘if you could be famous for anything what would it be for?’ and the answer was ‘Trophy wife obviously!’ there was only really ever going to be one winner.
Panama City Beach Baby! Thank God we Survived.