Do Puerto Rican Guidos Exist?

Many people feel like Miami is a new world versus Northern NJ. Don't be fooled by the aqua-blue water and breezing palm trees. This place substitutes the Jersey Shore as a haven for New Jersey trash to max out their credit cards and terrorize the nightlife scene. And yes, they still wear the graphic T-shirts.

But I want to divert to a particular local for a second. For confidentiality purposes, we'll call him Rico Fernandez.

I met Rico back in 2006 through a mutual friend. At first, I thought this guy was the coolest kid in the world. He was outgoing, fun to chill with, and down to pick up girls. He made the idea of going out to South Beach so appealing. His pitch? "All you have to do is pick me up in West Miami (over an hour drive from my Miami Beach apartment) and I get you in the clubs dawg!" I was a dumb underage kid who just wanted to party on the weekends. I really didn't know what was ahead for me.

At first, this system did work very well. I'd finish up classes earlier on a Friday, leave campus for my apartment, go to the gym, throw on my suit jacket and jeans and hop in the convertible jacked up and ready to make bad decisions. One hour later, I'd pick up Rico at his parents' house in Kendall. His parents didn't like me because they thought since I wasn't Puerto Rican like them, I was a bad influence. Do I understand the correlation? Does anyone? Didn't think so.

The club scene was always awesome. Here was a nineteen year-old kid getting me into awesome night clubs in Miami Beach. Most notably, was the Fifth. The Fifth was a loft-style club that is always filled with hot girls ready to hook up, a great blend of 80s and House Music, and just pure fun.

It wasn't too long before I realized Rico was a very shady character. I found out he used to steal cars in Puerto Rico and was kicked out of the military for peddling contraband. But hey, it's all in the past and it was a time for having fun and drinking in South Beach. What could go wrong?

Rico had a signature look very reminiscent of the Jersey Guido. He always had a graphic T-Shirt or loud button-down, designer jeans, and posed in pictures with a sideways peace sign and stuck-out tongue. Pure Jersey scumbag material.

In short, Rico started becoming a drug-addicted mess and showed up unannounced to my apartment while my friends from Jersey (non-guidos) were staying for Spring Break. Needless to say, Rico came in with a half-drunken bottle of Smirnoff, had a familiar-looking white powder mustache, and reaked of trouble. He offered to drive us to the Fifth, and like the retard I am, I agreed. Of course when you're coked up and drunk, driving's not always the best idea. We were all about two seconds from getting fatally hit by a cargo truck on the highway after Rico missed the exit twenty miles ago. The fun didn't stop when Rico asked for me to pay for his valet, didn't pay for bottle service, and demanded I lend him my jacket to get in the club. After that night I never saw Rico again.

My assessment: You don't have to be from Jersey to be a coked out tanned douchebag. It's spreading...