Good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only daily column pondering the great things one can do as a daredevil.For one, you get a nice, leather outfit with flames and stripes. If you’re the patriotic type, you might get some nice stars on your back. And, lest ye forget, daredevils get standing ovations. Lots of them. But, we wonder to ourselves, what is the best kind of daredevil? The man on the motorcycle who jumps school buses might get the nod, although we do have a certain love affair with the man who climbs skyscrapers with a pair of suction cups and a dream.The worst, we think, is the human cannonball. You’re shoved down in a cannon, which reeks of burned gun powder. While you’re there, you can’t see anything. You hear the echoes of the announcer, the fizzle of the fuse and WHAM you’re sent about 75 yards into a net.Mild applause leads into the amazing Chinese acrobats, who proceed to balance a kitchen set, 74 dishes and a family of hippoes on their heads, all while dancing the Tango with the tiger who ate Siegfried or Roy (we don’t know who ate who, but we know somebody got eaten).With a motorcycle, you’re the main show. Commercial breaks are planned around your act. You are the pinnacle of the drum roll. Human cannonballs watch from the sideline and wonder how, and when, life turned down this strange, explosive corridor.With this great epiphany, we’ve decided to set goals for ourselves. Tomorrow, we learn to ride a motorcycle. On Monday, we’ll buy a school bus. On Tuesday, we build a ramp. Then, on Wednesday (drum roll please), we jump over the bus.From there, it’s onto the arena circuit. By winter, we’ll be the greatest sideshow since Dick Cheney and, if luck plays itself out, we’ll get a nice, shiny costume. Thousands will adore us.Meanwhile, the Summit Up typing monkeys will take care of this column just fine.***Oh yeah, after much debate last week, we’re pseudo-apologizing for our potty mouth on Thursday.After surfing the Web last week (in desperation of inspiration), we found researchers legitimizing our favorite word – the one that rhymes with cluck, duck and truck.And we abused it like a champ. If you were offended, we apologize. If you weren’t, it meant you understood exactly what we were saying. Congrats and go cluck yourself.***Pues, amigos … It’s Sunday once more, or as they say in Spanish, Domingo. And what weekend is complete without a human cannonball act? We’re afraid, though, that the closest place to from here to find one of those is the Burning Man festival, which took place two weeks ago in the Nevada desert. So all we need now is a time machine. But then, if we had one of those, do you think we’d waste our time going to a new age art festival in Nevada? We think not. So basically, we have no point.If you have any points or inspiration, send them our way at firstname.lastname@example.org or light our fuse on the voicemail at (970) 668-3998 ext. 237.We’re out clucking to our little heart’s delight …
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