DIC Dangerous: The Next Humongous Things

“Come on, you sons of bitches, do you want to live forever?”Sergeant Major Daniel Daly, USMC, two-time Medal of Honor recipient and Glen Cove native

DIC Dangerous: The Next Humongous Things

Let me break something down for you. At times I can develop and foster a blatant disregard for my own safety. Maybe I listened to that guy Miles (Curtis Armstrong) in that movie Risky Business a little too many times when he said “Joel, you wanna know something? Every now and then say, ‘What the fuck.’ ‘What the fuck’ gives you freedom. Freedom brings opportunity. Opportunity makes your future.”

Well I think that explanation is sufficient. Without further ado, I present to you The Next Humongous Things that I’m going to make happen on the world stage.

Humongous Thing Part One: Bachelor Party in the Ides of March 2009

There really isn’t a need to go into a lot of detail about this. I’m having a bachelor party because I’m still going to be a bachelor at 35, in 2009. Fear not, there will be no actual wedding.  This bachelor party will be in addition to whatever birthday celebration that I can muster and is not meant to replace the anniversary of my birth in any way.  In addition, this bachelor party will not replace what will be known as the "the fake" bachelor party that I will participate in should I really get married, after all.

"The fake" bachelor party might be in Las Vegas, but "the real" bachelor party, as this trip will forever be known as, will be in Brazil. (I know, already.  "Beware the ides of March.") Call me cliché if you want to, but the bottom line is that I owe it to myself to have a good time since it is apparent that I will die childless, alone, and lonely. Yeah, I know it’s hard to face the facts but as a bachelor at 35, why would I try and get a life companion when my life is practically half over?  And if you’re talking about black men, we’re not supposed to even make it past 57!  I feel like I will be better equipped to deal with this dismal fact as I reminisce in my mind about the time that I went down to Rio de Janeiro and hit for the cycle.  Baseball enthusiasts have got to be feeling this.  No disrespect to Jesus, but you know the PSI brothers did the damn thing, right?

I’m inviting all my friends that are brave enough to call themselves virgin bachelors over the age of thirty. That’s right, you heard me. No divorcees, because you already had your chance buddy. This bachelor party is for the gentlemen that held out. Of course, those individuals will have to supply their own means, but we can definitely kick it if we are there at the same time. I’m thinking about taking the full two weeks on this joint. I think that it’s going to be totally worth it. I can’t imagine Rio de Janeiro not living up to its billing.   My main concern is the prospect of catching a social disease, so I’m going with the draft pick theory rather than the lottery selection if you know what I’m saying.

And just so you know, if I don’t have any bachelor friends that have never been married at that point then I am fully capable to go it alone. I suppose that is where the danger comes in. I’m told that if you don’t have a crew then there is a likelihood that you will be severely taken advantage of. Normally I would want to do the buddy system, but I heard that you could buy a buddy down there that will totally cook and clean for you while making sure everything is okay. Yeah, free agent status. That sounds nice. I’m going to need to bring a lot of paper down there so I might have to call a moratorium on inviting respectable women out on dates.

I don’t think that I’ll be missed by the respectable women anyway. Whores have to eat too.  Besides I’ll be so old I might even consider marrying a whore if she’s fine enough and worth saving like that.  Quietly, part four or five of this episode could easily be going to the Philippines, Vietnam or Thailand and straight up buying a wife, but we have to save something for 2012, don’t we? Anyway, I’ll keep you posted.

Humongous Thing Part Two: El Encierro in Pamplona Spain July 6 – 14th, 2010

As I have stated before, I am thoroughly committed to running with the bulls (Spanish Encierro) in Pamplona, Spain in 2010. This might be the start of an awesome writing career like Ernest Hemingway, or it could just be the end of my life. If I died at thirty-six at encierro, I would have to say that it was a great run. No pun intended.

The danger for this humongous thing cannot be denied. Between two and three hundred participants are injured in the encierro at Pamplona every year. There have been fourteen deaths since they started recording these types of things since 1920 or so. The last guy to actually get gored to death at the nine day festival in San Fermín was an American tourist from Illinois named Matthew Tassio back in 1995.

This humongous thing is going to require months of training. I’m not talking about the training that I usually do with the little chocolate doughnuts, either. I’m talking real running in order to get my endurance up for the encierro. You see, even though the encierro length is a little over a half a mile the bulls don’t know that this is supposed to be all fun and games. Not to mention that I’ll be thirty-six years old. Sure I’m still in better shape than most, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t get caught up. I’m sure to stick out like a sore thumb anyway. How many black guys go to this event anyway?

To make this thing even fresher, I’m going to try to film as much as possible for posterity. Picture me in a the traditional white shirt and pants rocking the red sash around my waist and a fat gold rope around my neck. I might have to do it in a white Kangol and shell toe Adidas –you know the white joints with the red stripes. Yeah son! I’m not playing with my outfit. [There are going to be things that you never seen before out that joint if you decide to be a part of the posse.] I’m pretty sure that this will be a spectacle for the ages so I’m inviting anyone that can hold a camera. After all, 2010 might be the last year that I might be considered handsome, or have a tool box of fully functioning tools.

The encierro, itself, starts at 8 AM each day of the San Fermín festival beginning on July 7th. I’m going a day or two early to scout the route and to witness the “running of the nudes” by the PETA members protesting the event because of cruelty to the bulls. Of course, I’ll be getting hammered while I’m there. Who are we kidding; I’m going to be getting seriously hammered. The running of the bulls is actually only four minutes long but there is a fairly good chance that you will need to sprint the entire way from the corral gate opening all the way to the bull ring.

I’m told that the slippery cobblestone streets are coated with a stickier surface these days in order to lessen the chances of bulls slipping around the turns at Estefeta. A falling bull will undoubtedly take out one or two runners. I suppose that is why the participants say, “We ask San Fermín as our patron to guide us through the encierro and give us his blessings” three times before they let the bulls loose.


… Who’s with me?


One Response to “DIC Dangerous: The Next Humongous Things”

  1. American Goring Advice: But None Too Much | The Chronicles of Six Says:

    […] have written about running with the bulls before, and my training for the event began in earnest in 2008.  I quickly got off track and later broke […]

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