Everywhere I look lately, there seem to be lists of things we should all be doing before a certain age.
In newspapers/magazines, on television, and especially here online, I find collections of up to 100 things I’m supposed to have done by now.
I’ll be honest, I probably haven’t done a quarter of it, and especially the experiences from the more pretentious publications; ‘Eat a fresh wild oyster from the hand of an indigenous 12th generation fisherman..’, and I really don’t feel I’m missing out.
I’ve decided to write a short antidote to bucket lists for myself. A ‘fuck-it’ list if you will, just four things I do NOT want to do at ANY age, and will happily continue steering my course through life never having experienced.
Honestly, I’m a very cheerful person in reality, I just come across terribly here.
1. Swim with dolphins.
You know why? Because every idiot you meet wants to do this. Now, before you out me as a hater of super-intelligent mammals, please know that I love dolphins as much as the next guy, I simply don’t fancy having one wrap its willy around my leg and drag me about. Because that’s sometimes what they do. Just as a cat senses which person in a room doesn’t like them and makes a beeline, how much do you want to bet that any attempt of mine to do this would result in dolphin dick wound around me at some point? Not that I’d envy you going into a bookies and trying to put that one on.
In fact, in researching this, I learned about quite a few things that dolphins try to do with humans. A few ‘you would report this to the police if it was on dry land’ things. Don’t go looking, I beseech you.
However, in the spirit of fairness, I also read about a human who crossed the happy, sunny ‘once in a lifetime experience’ boundary and turned this must-do dream for many into a bestiality frightmare. You know who you are, SICKO.
Speaking for myself though, I’m sorry Captain Blowhole, but this is one human who’ll be choosing to swim in prehensile penis-free waters for the rest of her life. No offence.
2. Jump out of a plane/bungee.
Another thing I don’t get. What’s the pleasure in possibly dying horrifically, and hopefully instantaneously, after falling from an unimaginable height?
We don’t have wings. The message regarding going up into the sky and then falling out of it again is right there in black and white, with no feathers attached. Sanitary towels have wings, and even THEY aren’t stupid enough to go jumping out of planes. Thank goodness, eh girls?
‘It’s the thrill, man.’
Thrill seeker, eh? I hear ya.
Fair do’s, but I think I can equal it in a way that doesn’t require an unreliable parachute, or plummeting to earth on the end of a rickety elastic band…in fact, these can all be done from the safety of your own sofa! Provided your sofa hasn’t just leapt from a plane.
Try letting your laptop battery drop to 1% before realising you CAN’T reach the plug without getting up! YIKES! Or enter the wrong security code on your phone wrong – 19 times – DELIBERATELY. You only get 20 chances, son. What if you do it wrong this time by accident? Locked out. Phone – useless.
You won’t be able to check Twitter, or your online bank balance for who knows how long. Can you even IMAGINE that??
*adjusts bow tie*
I think I’ve made my point.
3. Run with the bulls in Pamplona.
No WAY would I ever want to do that, and if you do – are you INSANE??
Have you even SEEN a bull?
They’re huge and terrifying, always seem to be angry about most things (like a muscular, four-legged version of Liz Jones), and have enormous gouging devices attached to their heads – AS STANDARD.
Yet every year, countless idiots go to Spain, dress up as idiots, and run like idiots through the tiny streets of Pamplona ahead of around a dozen bulls. Or alive, fast, angry, virtually unstoppable sentient tanks as I like to think of them.
These beasts have the genetic memory of millions of bullfights and rodeos inside them, do you really think you’re any match for that kind of rage? Human beings have taunted them, stabbed them, and humiliated them in front of whooping Americans for decades, don’t imagine you’re not due a deep, catastrophic goring in the minds of those animals.
I put this kind of activity up there with hunting, as something men do in order to feel they’re being proper men, regardless of any suffering it causes to other creatures. WOOO! I RAN IN FRONT OF A BULL! MY COCK IS HUGE NOW!
It’s worth noting that all those Athena posters we girls had on our walls in the 80s and 90s featured no bullfighters, or men dressed as lumberjacks standing next to dead bears. Try posing with a baby in black and white.
So yeah, running down the street with one of these death machines is pretty much my idea of an early grave. It’s a stupid tradition, fairly cruel, and I’m always secretly pleased when people get injured doing it. Serves you right, morons.
4. Climb Mount Everest.
Thank you for reading, and if you’re popping out later, could you grab me a new bucket? There’s a huge hole in mine.