When I was 16, going on 17, my best friend and I went with a few friends of ours to Naples to look at the uber-expensive, uber-decorated houses that line the canals there. It's a holiday tradition in my family.
Having enjoyed the decorations and picked out our dream homes, we strolled the square just off the waterfront, and sat on a bench by a large, tiled fountain with a pineapple on the top.
When suddenly out of the dark arouse such a clatter, we all turned our heads to see what was the matter.
Up ran about 20 or so men dressed in nothing but speedos and running shoes. One may have had a wetsuit and a snorkel, but I can't say for sure now. They jogged around the fountain, lept in, and yelled, "to the pineapple! to the pineapple!" One of them hoisted himself up the side of the large, lower bowl of the foutain, and nimbly scampered up the next to fondle the paramount pinapple.
Then, just as quickly as they had run in, they all ran out.