So this week in the sunny city of Pamplona Spain, the running of the bulls took place–and I slept through it. That's because this so-called thrill seeking festival bores the crap out of me.
The event attracts thousands of extremely stupid men who dare to taunt six half-ton fighting bulls into goring them. What makes this boring is that there is only six half-ton fighting bulls. When they're should be six hundred.
That's the problem with this event. The bulls are outnumbered, and very few of the runners actually get injured or die. Fourteen runners have died in the event since they started keeping records in 1924. I'm sure you agree with me, when I say, that's not nearly enough. This is not thrill-seeking. You're more at risk getting trampled at an opening for an Ikea store.
Still, on the third day, one bull gored a man named Marcus Wolf, a 22 year-old knob from Bakersfield, California. He went up in the air with one hole in his ass, and came down with two – a five inch gash that required a trip to the hospital. There, Marcus underwent surgery. That's right – after purposely putting himself in harms way, surgeons happily repaired his self-inflicted injury.
Would you? Maybe I'm a party-pooper, but I despise thrill seekers, adventurers and extreme athletes – simply because they waste the time of those who must rescue and repair their splayed and broken bodies. There are plenty of sick people who are sick through no fault of their own, and never get proper treatment. It seems wrong that we offer treatment to people who are simply asking for it.
So, of the 18 runners injured in the first two days of the festival, six are still hospitalized – wasting time and money. Meanwhile, at the end of the festival, the six bulls are butchered. Sounds like they got the whole thing backwards.
And if you disagree with me, then you sir are worse than Hitler.