I went to Corfu, Greece looking for history and culture — instead I found the Pink Palace Hostel, where the only curriculum was whipped cream body shots, booze cruises, and bad decisions. For four days straight it was chaos: gyros for breakfast, clothes optional, and a guy literally named Jesus leading the party. This is the story of how Corfu gave me the best memories, the worst hangovers, and five fewer years on my liver.