As is traditional at this time every year, the pious devout ordinary peoples of Spain are enjoying the Chasing of the Foreigners in Pamplona during the festival of Saint Fermin, a much-revered individual in these parts who was martyred after being dragged through the streets by a bull. Some of his friends had been telling him for ages that his long hair would be the ruin of him, and how correct they was when he try to convert a herd of Miuras using just a Bible, a fish, and his long, flowing, cape-like red locks.
The Spanish people are too smart, naturally, to be taking part in the Chasing of the Foreigners themselves. Is much too tiring! Instead, we have fine, especially bred bulls who represent Spain on our behalf (sometimes there is the odd energetic soul who want to join in on the side of the bulls, but the bulls are not differentiating between proud Spaniard and cowering foreigner, so this is always a mistake). The rest of us decide to make a day out of it, bringing along a pack lunch-a bottle of wine, some cured ham, some bread, olive oil, tomatos, etc.,-and rent a balcony overlooking the run or the corrida where the run is finishing. From the comfort of our seats, we toast the bulls and cheer them on, or sometimes, if we are feeling particularly sarcastic, we will shout for the Americans: “Look out, Johnny! He is goring you in the asshole! No! My mistake! Is your belly-button! I cannot tell which way you are facing, you fat bastard!”
The reason why all the stupid Americans is coming to Pamplona is because of the novelist Wayne Hemingsway, notorious author of The Sun and the Sand, For Whom the Blood Boils, The Troll Also Rises, and of course Men Who Run With the Bulls, a self-help guide to teach men to get in touch with their inner coward. You will notice that it is not called Men Who Run AT the Bulls, but of course none of the idiot Americans know this because they have not read it, which make them the ideal gullible victims for our naughty Spanish schoolchildren, who run up to them in the street and tell them, “Don’t run away from the bulls, mister. That is the worse thing you can do. Look at our brilliant Spanish bullfighters. They stand their ground and then dodge out of the way at the last second. That is what you should do. Also, take this roll-up newspaper and whack the bull between the eyes as hard as you can. No! I am not jerking you off. Bulls are like English people. They are intimidated by people who read. Trust me. I am a Spanish schoolchild.”
The Pamplona festival also give the Spanish people a big opportunity to gamble, which is a terrible sin but which we love very much. Usually we are gamble on how many foreigners will be gored or killed during the festival, or also we gamble on which breeds will be the highest gorers. The Miura breed is normally very placid and give very few gorings of the foreigners, so you can usually get good odds; this year, the Miuras surprise everyone and really come good; they really outdid themselves. But this has led to accusations that they have been using performance-enhancing drugs, and no doubt there will be some blood tests done when they are eaten. The Jandilla breed has not until this year ever killed anyone, but they are the third-highest gorers in the history of the competition. This year also was their second-slowest-ever running time, which suggest that the Jandillas are learning to take their time and pick their targets more selectively. Will be only a few years, I think, before they are smarter than the Americans. Let us hope that they do not learn to type!
For this year’s festival, then, here is the final goreboard:
One Madrileño killed (mistaken identity)
Twelve various gorings.
One twisted ankle (probably a Frenchman)
All bulls survived the running.
In Spain, we like to give the bulls a level playing field (although it actually slope downwards) and the chance to have a go back at all the foreigners who have been eating their women in McDonald’s, Burger King, Wendy’s and so on, over the past 12 months. This year also the fair play award went to a bull, whose name was Subueso, a Jandilla. He was the last bull in the corrida on July 10, and he was killed beautifully by matador Ruben Pinar.
What events or institutions do you have in your own country, both my reader, to humiliate and laugh at idiot foreigners? I know that the Irish have Bloomsday and the French have Paris. Are there any more that I should know about?