Ah, Gasparilla. The closest thing to mardigras you can get here in the meth infused area of the Bay. Beads, boobs and booze all well before the first ray of sunlight. Every year, the chaotic filled state of Florida gathers in Tampa, to honor one of its oldest traditions, Gasparilla. The streets of Bayshore are flooded with thousands of alcohol induced Floridians. All that crazy shit you hear about on the news, this is where they all gather. Gasparilla is a mixture of black out behemoths pretending to be pirates, girls in their 20’s solely there for the Instagram pictures and then the rest of the Floridians, which are a species unknown to the world. Each and every year, I tell myself, I won’t put myself through the horrid shit show that is Gasparilla, yet, here I am again, buying a parrot outfit to roam the dirty streets of Tampa in pursuit of pirate booty and beads. If you’re a virgin to Gasparilla, prepare to get screwed hard by the misery that is this Pirate fest. Here is a timeline of how your Gasperilla will go.


5:30 a.m.: Wake up abruptly, puke your brains out from the night before from SOHO. Yes, Gasperilla isn’t just a day, it’s a whole f****ng marathon of pirate filled misery.

6:00 a.m.: After the puking has concluded, attempt to fall back sleep

6:30 a.m.: Like a kid on Christmas, there is always the one Tampa native who wakes the entire house up with a Smirnoff ice yelling “ Gasperilla bitches! arggggggg” @CristosTsokos

7:00 a.m.: Cracks open first beer, takes sip, further commence the puking.

8:00 a.m. Now that you;ve either puked or shit your hangover out, the pre-game begins. But wait… it’s only 8 am!!! You’re already late to the party my friend, Gasperilla is a collegiate noon kick off and blacking out before 10 a.m. is a must.

9:00 a.m. :shots, flip cup,selfies, snap chat and whatever the hell else you young whippersnappers do begin to take flight.

9:45 a.m.: you come to the realization your whole party is leaving in 15 minutes, cue the 6 fireball shots and slapping the bag of White Crisp Franzia

10:00 a.m. watch as everyone panics to leave the house, shoving mini shot bottles, beers and wine bags down their crotches and bra’s.

10:15 a.m. Walk in an intense congo line taking selfies and snapchats to Bayshore. Maps say’s it’s only a 3.5 mile walk and one hour to get there.

10:20 a.m.: come to the realization I am out of shape, checks UBER: $265 TRIP CHARGE TO GO 2 MILES. CONTINUES TO WALK.

11:30: Arrives at Bayshore, chugs all open containers and begins to search for the “Gasperilla”

11:45 a.m.: Realize that half the Florida pirates are wearing ski jackets as the temperatures have dropped to an all time low of 73 degrees.

12:30: Realizes the “Gasperilla” isn’t even a thing. It’s just a parade of drunk Floridians stumbling around walking to a never ending destination.

12:45: The “Brown Out” begins as you slowly feel yourself hitting the dark deep place known as the blackout.

1:00 P.M. Checks Apple Watch, has walked more miles at Gasperilla than the entire year.

1:30 P.M. Pays $18.50 for a 16 oz Bud Latte. Buys 6 more. Tries to buy 7th, card declines.

2:00 P.M. : continues battalion march to nowhere.

2:30 P.M. : Decides it’s time to fight through the great wall of Florida that is the barrier between people and the ships tossing beads.

3:00 P.M. Fights 4 middle aged women and one man with a pegged leg for a Budweiser Bead.

3:45 P.M. : A broken Rib, black eye and 7 beads later, the group decides to walk back.

4:00 P.M. Commence the “Trail of Tears” as you march 5 miles back to home, hungry, tired and black out.

5:30 p.m.: Arrive at the SOHO plaza where MOES and Jimmy Johns anxiously await you.

7:00p.m. after the 2 hour bush gardens line that is Moes comes to an end, you get your first meal of the day.

8:00 p.m. Get home, everyone passes out.

10:00 p.m. Go back out to SOHO, try to catch a second wind. darkness over comes you.

2 a.m. : Goes home, eats pizza alone, passes out.

5:30 a.m. Wakes up, pukes and realize you have to work tomorrow.

7: 00 a.m.- 10:00 p.m. – Cue the Sunday Scaries.

Written by Clarky