News from the Natural World: Red Bull doesn’t give you wings, a bloodthirsty Matador fails to take off.
Jose Jesus-Jose was the bravest Matador in his village. He had grown up in a small rural town in the Spanish countryside. It was all cobbled streets and orange trees. His upbringing was full of the tales of brave and heroic Matadors. His bedroom was full of their pictures and his bookshelf full of their feats. He was a very impressionable young boy. These Matadors were his heroes. He wanted to follow in their footsteps when he grew up.
But Jose hated the ugly Bulls. He knew they were evil and stupid beasts and the Matadors were their brave vanquishers. But Jose lacked the bravery and skill required to become a great Matador. He was nervous and afraid of pain. Some people in the village even called him a coward. He was afraid he would never become a famous matador. But one day Jose heard on the TV an advert that mentioned his beloved Bulls. The advert chimed “Red Bull gives you wings”. Wings!? Jose finally knew the answer to his problems, he knew he had to turn a Bull red then he would be given wings and could become the greatest Matador of all time.
Bloodthirsty Matador Fails to Take Off
So Jose Jesus-Jose trained day and night for his big trial. He was going to brutalise a Bull so badly in the ring that it would turn red. Once he had turned the bull red he would be given wings. He knew the advert was true. It had to be. It was his only hope. With wings, he would become the greatest Matador ever known. When the day came Jose stepped into the ring. But shock crept over him. The Bull was no evil beast. The Bull was clearly terrified. He could see the fear and pain in its eyes. It was panting and puffing, scared of the evil human facing it. Yet he dodged it’s charging horns and thrust his spears into it’s back relentlessly.
Red Bull Doesn’t Give You Wings
Years of brainwashing and ‘tradition’ had clouded his judgement and he was able to somewhat justify his violence. It was entertainment, it was tradition, it was just a bit of fun. But as the spears kept skewering the bull and the blood poured forth Jose knew this was a lie. He could see it in the Bulls eyes, it was frightened of him, it was scared and he was its torturer. As it’s lifeless bloodied form slumped to the floor covered head to toe in blood Jose knew he was mistaken. No wings sprouted from his back and he knew the advert was a lie.
Jose Jesus-Jose stumbled to the nearest bar. He needed a drink. So he sat down next to a dishevelled young man. The young man leered at him. “Oh god, I feel terrible. My head feels like a Hippo shat in it.” Jose was intrigued. “What have you been drinking?”. The man looked at him with googly eyes “Why young man I’ve been up all night on Red Bull. The stuff is absolutely lethal. It’s pure trash.” Jose’s eyes lit up, so he wasn’t the only one, everyone else felt sh*t when they had a Red Bull as well.
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