Traditions can be wonderful things. They invigorate us and build bridges to our past giving us an opportunity to share experiences with our ancestors. They define our cultures and make us who we are.

Sometimes.

Then there are those traditions I'd just as soon not share with those who came before me. Having a 2000 pound bull using my ass for target practice is not an experience I will soon repeat. It's not one I'll soon understand.

I'm not sure what historical events unfolded that turned the experience of being a defenseless hunted animal into a sport, or why people travel from all over the globe for the opportunity to have their abdomens gouged by a pair of bull's horns. 

Personally, I was thankful that I was armed with a Walther P99 semi-automatic pistol and was able to unload a full clip into the head of the bull who was clearly going to outrace me to the finish line. Apparently runners are supposed to suppress the urge to shoot over their shoulders in blind terror while running for their life. It's a good thing that I avoided hitting humans and only ended up killing four bulls and a bird who happened to be flying overhead, but the panicked riot that ensued  from onlookers and runners alike who thought we were all under attack made for one of the more interesting endings of that day in recent memory.

Naturally, I was arrested and beaten to a pulp by the Spanish police who were pretty pissed off I had soiled such a treasured tradition. I was kicked out of the country and ordered never to return.

Spain is one fucked up place.

Ever get into a fad that you wished later on you could erase from your life history? Well, this picture captures one of those moments.

Some people wore bellbottoms, others polyester. Some sported Mohawks and there were even a few people who had nose rings before it became a suburban fad; back in the day when it looked truly ridiculous.

Me? I was a ballet dancer.

Sure you may laugh, but it's actually quite fun. And there are jobs out there that require the role of a male ballet dance to be filled. Plus it allowed me a unique opportunity touch women without getting the obligatory slap in the face which tends to be the usual response.

Unfortunately that opportunity was short lived. A bad luck would have it the choreographer was an astutely observant human being. It didn't take him very long to discover that I actually had no idea what ballet dancing was. He very quickly surmised that I was just there for the paycheck and the girls in tutus. The fact that I had an erection hard enough for a dancer to perform a pirouette on didn't help my circumstances, either.  

About 20 minutes after this picture was taken, I was once again being physically ejected from a building, with the security guards actually throwing my body through the air. I'm guessing those guys worked for the same security company being employed by the movie studios.

(By the way, I'm not exactly sure what it is that got my two companions so, umm, excited that day. I don't quite remember the photographer being female.)

A few years ago I fought a small charity boxing match in Phil Jones' garage. It was for a worthy cause (he was raising money to replace his porno VHS tapes with DVD's) and considering the competition consisted of three 12-year olds and an 11-year old I figured it would be easy pickings. Being 24 at the time, I was surprised to discover that I was going to be allowed to fight the competition. He must have had a lot of tapes to replace.

I trained for weeks using Rocky IV as my inspiration. I was in the best physical shape of my life. I had turned myself into a man of steel. I was a caged animal, ready to reek havoc on any poor unsuspecting fool who had the audacity to jump into the ring with me. A lean, mean, fighting machine!

Of course, I hadn't planned on the cheap shot that the little cocksucker threw at me eighteen seconds into the first round, knocking me unconscious (no one told me the use of elbows was fair game). When I awoke in the hospital the next day, the nurse told me that my body had been dumped in front of the emergency room by "a car full of midgets" that sped off immediately afterwards. So much for worthy causes. Anyway, It took two surgeries and a week of physical therapy, but I was able to pull through in the end.

And if I ever bump into that kid on the streets I'm going to kick his ass!

At some point or another in everyone's life even the laziest of people (and I certainly qualify as such) get an itch up their ass and start  working out. Usually the regiment lasts about three days before the victim comes to their senses. 

As you can see from the picture, I was one of those victims. In retrospect, it  wasn't such a good idea to choose weightlifting. From the look on my face, if I strained any harder, every blood vessel in my head would have exploded, and that was the first lift on the first day of my workout schedule. Although, in my defense, those are 10 pound weights on each end of the barbell, so I deserve at least some credit for being able to lift that over my head.

Unfortunately my workout days were numbered when I ended up pulling 7 muscles in various places around my body.

This is an advanced copy of Time Magazine's Man of the Year issue. In a surprising decision, I was voted the upcoming man of the year (apparently not a single person on the planet has accomplished anything of any significance this year). 

Some random quotes from the article:

"...a man who has contributed so little in his life that we felt compelled to give him his just recognition..." 

"...the human body in raw materials is worth ninety eight cents. In this case, we demand a refund from God..."

"...to say this enigma takes up space is to slight those whose only purpose actually is to take up space..."

"...one of the few people who, in comparison, promotes Homer Simpson to the status of seasoned philosopher..."

There was a time, when I was a younger, more idealistic man, I would attend local political town meetings. I've always felt that politics was important and people should get involved with the issues that confront each and every one of us. Hell I've watched enough MTV to know that even I need to Rock the Vote.

Unfortunately, on occasion, the confrontations would get a bit out of hand.

The purpose of this town meeting was to decide whether a new Healthy Bites vegetarian restaurant should be built in our neighborhood, instead of a Burger King. I, being a red blooded carnivore, favored the Burger King and at first everything was cordial.

However, after a few minutes, debates became heated (one person actually suggested building a Taco Bell instead; that got the crowd unruly). After I recommended that maybe a Wendy's was an appropriate compromise (I mean, they do have baked potatoes, don't they?) chaos erupted, and as you can see in this photograph, I was carried out of the hall, my head being used to open the front doors. 

And, once again, my body was physically thrown into the air, and I was ejected out of yet another building.

Needless to say, that was the last town meeting I've ever attended.

There are times when I wish life was like a VCR, where we have the ability to fast forward boring events, or, as in this case, rewind particularly painful decisions we make and avoid them. I'm a wiser man now, and I understand the consequences of what can happen when standing on a concrete ledge. This photo illustrates one such consequence. Foolishly, I was dancing on said concrete ledge to Wham's "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go". 

During my patented "white boy hip-twist with double snap twirl" I slipped and your imagination has probably already filled in what happened next. 

However, I'm not one to let adversity get me down. Two days later I was back, on crutches, shaking my ass to Madonna's "Borderline".