Bulls & Berries

I’m sitting here, on Saturday night, watching bull riding. Like my wife says in jest, “Don’t judge me.”

I shake my head repeatedly because I don’t have the first clue what in the hell would draw someone to do this. Why, I ask myself, would you knowingly strap yourself atop a bull named after the devil? Why, I ask myself, would you allow someone to anger said bull by constricting his ‘man parts’ in such a way that he foams at the mouth, and unconsciously craps himself? And….finally….why, I ask myself, would you let some idiot open the gate, letting a large and pissed off El Diablo attempt to thrash your ass into the dirt?

What kind of perverted thrill seeking junkie do you have to be to do this? I mean, is the same person who rides a snotty bull the same person who jumps out of a perfectly good airplane or straps a rubber band to himself and leaps from a bridge or helicopters to the tip top of a mountain and speed-skis to the bottom or crams his entire body into a barrel hoping that he doesn’t drown in the undertow of Niagara Falls? It’s absolute lunacy.

My wife told me she’d give me a dollar if I’d change the channel. Cha-ching.

We went from Versus to the National Geographic Channel and some moron on a show called “Alone in the Wild.” Go figure what it’s about, right? I don’t understand the fascination behind these types of programs, or their hosts (and that’s a term I use loosely). Man Against Nature. Survivor Man. Thrill Seeking Tools Trying to Get Famous By Eating Bugs and Wild Berries Whilst Using Super Charged Batteries to Video Chronicle Their Misadventures and Dumb Decisions Before Getting Into A Van and Driving Away With the Production Crew. Amazing.

This guy is actually twittering about setting rabbit traps. Excuse me? Twittering? How are you alone in the wild if you can twit or tweet or whatever the conjugation might be?

I know I’m not the smartest person in the world, and I’m sure I don’t use anywhere close to 100% of my brain power. But, just as I’m pretty sure I’m never going to attach my good arm to an angry bovine and hope that I don’t find my limp body stomped under foot, I’m confident that the first thing I do after my plane crashes in the middle of freakin no where – and I realize I’m not dead – won’t be pulling out my BlackBerry and updating my Facebook status, my MySpace page, or tweeting about the berries and bunny traps that will keep me alive until I find my way to safety.

“57 channels and nothin’ on.” - Bruce Springsteen