It’s my final day in Cancun, Mexico, as your official CollegeHumor Spring Break ’07 Correspondent. And, it is with great difficulty that I type this last entry. Literally.

Friends, I succumbed to the madness that surrounds me, and I am afraid to report that I am one of the fallen. Or, at least, one of the injured. Our last hours in Cancun were met with hook-ups, skinny dipping, and drunkenness. At some point last night, I dubbed myself the human Corona opener, and after launching the 30th bottle cap off by smashing it with my fist against a marble surface, I found myself with an injury, and now it is hard to type. I awoke this morning with a swollen right hand, and, inexplicably, a pink “Cancun” do-rag covering my hair.

Who am I?

I am one of the chosen few, that’s who.

If you’re lucky – yes LUCKY – enough to be injured on Spring Break, you are a legend. Fuck that asshole frat brother of yours who always steals your thunder when he breaks a tooth after a keg stand gone wrong. And, to hell with that dickweed who’s broken his nose 17 times in touch football games. Real men get injured on Spring Break, not on campus, and REALER men get injured in a foreign country on Spring Break, where medical care is only a twinkle in the eye of that nation’s domestic policy, paramedics are nonexistent, and everyone around you for miles in every direction is too drunk to even light the joint they’re trying to smoke.

On the beach I met one hero who smashed his back against some sort of coral reef. We salute you! I’m quite sure that totally did not involve alcohol or drugs.

Female injuries are sometimes less severe, but always hilarious. No one loves a drunk chick falling down the stairs more than I do. One female injury I saw was at CT. Otherwise known as “The City,” it’s one of the largest clubs in the world. Thousands of people fit inside and a huge stage flaunts djs and performers. (We saw Fat Joe and DMX.) The place smells like tequila, beer, smoke, vomit, and piss. Kind of like your frat house….but think of your house as the “eau de toilette” version, and this place is full-on “parfum.” (By the way, If you understand that metaphor and you have a penis, consider handing in your straight membership card for a gay one.) The City is the mecca of Cancun partying. It’s the type of place where if you licked the floor, you’d be dead within 15 seconds.

If you had an hour or so, you could trek through the crowd towards the bathroom, where I found a whole new Spring Break world awaiting me. Similar to the cheeseball clubs that pepper our country, The City flaunts an array of toiletries in the women’s bathroom, including lipstick. Lipstick? As in the stuff you put on your lips? Yeah, that sounds like a fucking fantastic idea. The club is filled with so many skanks that if you inhale too deeply when you breathe you won’t pass your next STD screening, and you think I’m going to use a community lipstick? I watched as one whore applied some to her skank lips (no, not those skank lips…I mean the ones on her face), and I could just imagine the rancidness that she not only received but also delivered back onto the lipstick. But, one toiletry that was not supplied was band-aids, which was a big disappointment to these two “ladies.” One of them had stepped on an unknown object in the club. She was bleeding from an open wound in her foot, which, if you listened close enough, was saying, “Hey diseases! Come on in!” I bet you 5 bucks this chick is currently no longer living. Open foot wounds in this establishment are a sure-fire death sentence. But, it was worth it! We salute you! And, may your gravestone read:

Here lies this Spring Break chick
And, seriously, not to be a dick,
But when you drink booze
Don’t wear open-toed shoes

So, what did I learn this week at Spring Break? A whole fucking lot, but I don’t remember any of it.

And, if you do, then you certainly didn’t have as much fun as the rest of us.

Spring Breakers, Stay Wet, Stay Cool, and Party On!

Until next year,
Alison