This week in Pamplona, Spain, the running of the bulls took place and it bored the poop out of me.
The event attracts thousands of brain-dead boobs who taunt six half-ton fighting bulls into goring them. And that's the problem: There's only six of them, when there should be six hundred.
See, because the bulls are outnumbered, very few of the runners die. In fact, only 14 runners have perished since 1924.
Sorry folks, that's not thrill-seeking. You're more at risk getting trampled at an opening for a new Ikea.
Still, one bull gored a man named Marcus Wolf, a 22-year-old knob from 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. Once there, Marcus underwent surgery. That's right — after purposely putting himself in harm's way, surgeons happily repaired his self-inflicted injury.
Would you? Not me, for 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 to treat people who actively seek out suffering.
So, of the 18 runners injured so far this year, six are still hospitalized wasting time and resources.
Meanwhile, at the end of the run, 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.