 |
| If you grew up in North America in the 80s you know damn well who this is |
That I
grew up spending my Saturday mornings watching WWF wrestling is not something I
advertise. It’s not that I’m ashamed of
it – I suspect that a lot of guys (and gals) my age spent their Saturday
mornings the same way – but the experience, or the knowledge gained from it, is
not easily introducible to an adult conversation:
“We’re expecting our first baby! We are SO excited!”
“Oh my
God that’s great! This is like when Hulk
Hogan bodyslammed Andre the Giant at Wrestlemania 3!”
“I’m
sorry?”
“I said,
‘Lovely! When are you due?’”
“We
really must be going.”
 |
| High praise indeed |
Consequently,
I am more likely to tell someone about the times in my life I have been
accosted by shadowy paranormal entities than I am to describe my heartbreak at
Hulk Hogan’s momentous Wrestlemania 6 loss to the Ultimate Warrior.
 |
| Welcome to my childhood |
At this
point it should come as no great surprise that I am not invited to many dinner
parties.
