bull . . .

by bookindian

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facebookies are like the “bullfighter” . . . just fucking stupid . . . and they probably text while driving . . . LOL OMG FTW WTF ROFL . . . U get tha pi-cha . . .

some stuff to ponder whilst ruminating . . .

First the bull is worked over by the guys on horseback . . . they lacerate the shoulder and neck muscles with their “pics” . . . then you get the banderillas . . . sticks with sharp blades (barbed) stuck in the shoulder muscles . . . then the guy in the “suit of lights” capes the bull until fatigue and loss of blood leave it standing, head down, tongue hanging out the side of its mouth . . . next comes the muleta . . . that curved bitch of steel . . . thrust between the shoulder blades and into the lungs . . . and when the bull slumps to its knees, another dandy in tights and little black flats . . . runs up and severs the spinal cord . . . at the base of the skull . . . the “coup de grace” (French)

you never see the coagulated blood mixed with sand . . . the flies on the bloody shoulders . . . maybe they should cut off the ball sac . . . cut out the tongue . . .

” . . . ask not for whom the bell tolls . . .”

Hemingway, aficionado of the corrida shot himself in manly fashion . . . shotgun . . . no prolonged watching the shades being drawn . . . no bloody froth bubbling up with exhausted breath . . . just WHAM bam, thank you ma’am . . .

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