My Butt Runs Red in Pamplona

Ándale!!!!!!! Sorry for yelling guys, but I write you literally mid-stride on the streetz of Pamplona, with angry bulls hot on my hot ass. Plus my 8th grade English teacher told me an exclamatory sentence is a great way to rope the reader in. I don’t know what I did to piss these guys off, but one thing’s for certain, they do NOT appreciate live blogging!

Good thing I carbo-loaded before this.

Good thing I carbo-loaded before this.

I’m in the midst of Pamplona’s annual Fiesta de San Fermín, which kicks off with the running of the bulls. It’s a tradition that dates all the way back to Columbus days. When I let my mind wander, I can just picture him: strolling the cobble stone streets, partaking in the festivities, enslaving an entire civilization and giving them tuberculosis. Ahhhh, the country reeks of culture.

Spain has a quirkiness that is almost inexpressible, especially if you don’t speak Spanish. But if I had to, I would refuse. But if you made me, I’d say you’re a control freak. But if you asked nicely, I guess I would say… it’s like… a babbling brook on the outskirts of a tiny— BUTT! Oh! Oh! Oh my god! Oh my god! My buuuuuuttttttttttttt!!!!!!!!!!

Mess with the bull, he gets your butt cheeks.

Mess with the bull, he gets your butt cheeks.

Thrill seeker down! I synonymously repeat, adventurist fallen! Oh no, oh no, oh no. I’ve been hit. My cheeks have been compromised. One of these god-forsaken bull-beasts has gotten the best of me and my gluteus just-the-right-size-a-mus.

Best to just stay in a ball and keep on live bloggin’ ‘til the storms passed.

I'm probably the bravest person in the world.

I’m probably the bravest person in the world.

Okay, I think it’s over. I need to get to a hospital and fast, I’m losing a lot of blood and I haven’t had green Jello in like 3 hours.

I’m looking for help from LITERALLY anyone, but all I see are these untalented street performers that won’t give up on their dreams of becoming a musician.

You aren't better than me!

You aren’t better than me!

It’s like, for once, please, try and be a valuable member to society and help your fellow brother in despair. But no, he ignores me and just continues to play John Mayer covers.

So with my butt not exactly feeling like a wonderland, I’ve finally stumbled into a local hospital. And boy-oh-boy this place is a real mierda mart. I have to wait in line for nearly an hour.

I am an American and I deserve EVERYTHING.

I am an American and I deserve EVERYTHING.

I mean is it really that hard to get quality care?! I’m standing here, with a severe bull-horn puncture wound, and no one will suck the poison out.



Oh god, I’m becoming overwhelmed, oh no, I think I’m passssinggggg ooooo—

Passed out, Assed out.

Passed out. Assed out.

What fresh hell?! Where am I? All I can see is a cloud of smoke, creepy-unsettling music plays ever so softly; for being in a shock-induced coma, I am on high alert AND STILL LIVE BLOGGIN’ Y’ALLLLLL. Then my enemy burgeons from an ominous smoke cloud, this beast, this horrid beast, who has all ready tainted the curvature of my terrific haunch; gallops towards me to finish the job. I am crippled with fear and unable to move as I await my impending death.

But wait, what is this?! A figure ascends from seemingly nowhere, brandishing a cloak and dagger this Torero spins and swirls, gracefully yet menacingly, he immediately quells the beast and sends him back to the pits of hell from whence he came!

From North Carolina, at guard, 6'6"... Pieerrrrreeeee the Frenchman!!

From North Carolina, at guard, 6’6″… Pieerrrrreeeee the Frenchman!!

I don’t believe my eyes! Tis my old friend Pierre! And he’s wearing a scarf! He has come back to save me, he does care, oh how he cares! We embrace tenderly, both of us ecstatic to be reunited with one another.

The dirty dawgs are back together again!!!

The dirty dawgs are back together again!!!

But then, as quickly as he came he is pulled from my clutches and I pulled from my imagination, thrust back into a world of socialist healthcare and inappropriate dinner times.

I’m awoken to the site of the nurse lording over me, and I’m like, “Where’d you study baby? El Spanish School For Hot Titzz?” Sick pickup line Kush.

She was a tasty piece, no doubt.

Ay mami, tu eres en fuego. And me likey en fuego, y’allll.

She’s telling me that I was lucky the bull didn’t pierce any of my vital organs, clearly she doesn’t know how vital my butt is in my everyday life.

She starts gettin’ all lispy and this jerk is really startin’ to irk, so imma get ta steppin’. Plus my battery life is like SUPER low. So far Spain sucks a multitude of wieners, so they better raise their game up if they want this jet setter to settle.



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