Jimbob's Journal
by Jim Harris

I see they just had the annual idiot festival in Pamplona Spain, also known as the "running of the bulls". More precisely, a few terrified animals, slipping and falling on the cobblestones, sprinkled in with a bunch of drunken, goading runners and mocking spectators. A surefire recipe for fun.

Sorry girls, women are not allowed to run with the bulls because they are not brave enough and also because they might get hurt and start to cry, thus ruining all the fun. No sirree, careening down narrow streets with hyperventilating, bug-eyed bovines is strictly a man's job. So step aside, Senorita, and be duly impressed by all the manly manliness.

Everyone always acts surprised when someone gets gored. "Oh no, call a doctor!" What kind of doctor would want to treat any of these blockheads? Wouldn't that be violating some kind of oath to serve humanity? Apparently not in Spain. Remember, the national sport there is bullfighting, an ancient, epic duel to the death between man and beast, immortalized by such famous artists as Picasso and Hemingway.

Here's how it works (try to stay with me because it gets complicated): the Matador taunts the bull by waving a cape. When the bull lunges at the matador (and here's the genius of it all) he steps aside! Now, 99 times out of 99, the bull goes after the cape instead of the matador. In spite of this, the matador still occasionally gets gored, everyone acts surprised, and yet another bull-wound "doctor" is called in to mop up. Here's another interesting statistic for you handicappers out there; the bull never wins. You might want to factor that in to your calculations before placing your next bet.

Anyway, this sidestepping routine goes on for quite some time, all the while several other guys in tights and sequins on horseback are stabbing the bull with spears. If the bull is still standing after several hours, they crash into him with an old Volkswagen bus full of rocks, and if that doesn't finish him off, they drop a bomb on him from a helicopter. I know all of this may sound a bit harsh, but you should know that they do feed the meat to poor people, and as we know, any form of killing is automatically a noble act if it ends up feeding poor people (Whoops! Sorry, I ran over your dog, but don't worry, I fed him to the homeless.)

Let's eavesdrop on a typical play-by-play: " .. and the matador steps aside yet again. That's thirty eight successful step-asides so far. The bull is totally dumbfounded, folks, and he's bleeding from about four hundred wounds. I don't see how he can possibly bounce back from this . . wait a minute! The matador has turned his back on the bull, and he's - holy cow! - he's mooning the bull! The bull has absolutely no response to this and the crowd is going wild with glee! I think it's on to the slaughterhouse and those hungry poor people for this tired toro. Stay tuned for your late local news."

Earth to Spain: Generalissimo Franco is still dead, and so are Picasso and Hemingway and that whole "man against nature" trip. Man won. Lighten up! And by the way, sequins haven't been "in" since the 80's. Please, get a clue.

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