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
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
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
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.