Bullfighting

I went to a bullfight last weekend. Yes! A SPANISHSHSH bullfight! It was HORRIBLE. And cruel, and "cultural", and that's the only reason why I stuck it out through the fourth dead bull. At least they were killed to benefit those Down's Syndrome kids...

Let me bring you into my little bloody world for a moment: First, the matadors come into the arena all dressed up, the bull is set loose, mad and crazy, and the "fight", or "public slaughter" begins. The matadors kill their black enemy slowly, stabbing it in the neck with 4-6 lances which continue to dangle from the bull's neck throughout the fight, swinging as it attempts to destroy that frustrating red cloth. After the crowd has applauded and sufficiently been impressed by the blatant animal cruelty, a final, 12-inch-long spear is is thrust into the spinal cord and the bull finally dies after about 2 minutes of a mixture a) coughing up blood, and b) thrashing on the dirt while the murde-I mean matador-takes a bow and the crowd wave their white flags of death.

Too much for you? Me too, this happened 7 times.

Off to mountaineer the Alpujarras this weekend!