Hulk Hogan Dream

***HULK HOGAN DREAM***

I’ve always known that dreams could be an awesome source of creative fuel. I never expected one of them to be a short story idea for the WSS. Now that I’m wide awake and I’ve processed everything that happened in the dream, I’m not sure if it’ll even become a future story. Maybe I could be convinced into writing it by whoever’s reading this blog entry. Ready or not, here it comes!

The main character in the story was played by me, though I don’t remember the person’s name. All I know is that I was captured by an alien race with squid-like faces and taken to their flying saucer’s prison cells. They should have patted me down for weaponry before locking me up, because I had the one weapon that would put me in beast mode forever: Hulk Hogan’s Hall of Fame ring. I slipped it on my finger and transformed into the former WWE wrestler, the healthy 1980’s version. I ripped the bars off the cell and started beating the crap out of squid-faced aliens with big boots, clotheslines, suplexes, body slams, and leg drops (did I get all of his five moves of doom?). And then I got to the helm of the ship where the master alien was waiting for me. Soon I was joined by The Ultimate Warrior and the two of us beat the crap out of the alien leader together. I woke up thinking this would make a good short story idea, but now I’m not sure.

And now that I think about it, if I did write this story, it would be considered fan fiction since WWE owns the name Hulk Hogan. Although, with the racism scandal in 2015, they don’t want anything to do with him anymore and pretty much scrubbed him from their history. So the question now becomes, if I write this story and it’s considered fan fiction, can I be sued for publishing it and if so, by who: Hulk Hogan himself or the WWE? At this point, I’m better off using an entirely different character instead of Hogan, but it wouldn’t have the same effect or meaning. Copyright laws are fickle bitches.

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“Team PCB calling themselves the most dominant divas in WWE is like Donald Trump saying his favorite holiday is Cinqo De Mayo.”

-Nikki Bella-

The D- From Hell

I haven’t told this story in a long time and I didn’t see a reason for it until now. My Smash Words e-book “Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage” opens with heavy metal lyrics for a song called “62”. The opening line of the song goes like this: “True blue! I don’t need a 62! Your wife’s sweet juices will just have to do!” Although altered somewhat, these lyrics are part of an insult poem I wrote in 2005 that got me suspended from college. Is it story time already? It sure is. In winter quarter of 2005, I took a geology class on the advice of my guidance counselor. She told me that the guy who taught it, Steve, was funny and charismatic and therefore would be a fun teacher to have. By the time winter quarter actually begins, all I saw was a goofball who cared about rocks a little too much. He even had a sign on his door that said “Have a Gneiss Day”. Get it? He-he-ho-ho. His annoyingly quirky behavior was the least of his problems. I wrote that insult poem about him for three main reasons. First, he told us to study for one thing and tested us on something completely different. This ultimate swerve resulted in me barely surviving that test with a 62 (the title of the updated heavy metal song), or a D- for those who deal in letters. Secondly, he identified me in class as “the guy with bad handwriting”. And lastly, to put the cap on the humiliation, he made a big deal about me not covering my mouth when I yawned. Three acts of poor taste led to the creation of a battle rap against him. In this poem, I said three things to him that were equally in bad taste. I told him I was going to fuck his wife, fuck his mother, and scrape my keys across the side of his car. That would certainly be enough to put him in his place. Maybe it was overkill, maybe it was a lack of maturity, but something prompted Steve to complain to the Vice President of the college and tell them he was…brace yourselves…”terrified”. Steve actually thought I was going to do those nasty things to his family and his car. In order to keep from receiving a full ten day suspension or even an expulsion, I had to convince the Vice President and his Head of Security I was just blowing a whole bunch of smoke and the poem was more like a fantasy than a plan of action. I dodged a huge bullet. The worst that happened to me was that I was no longer allowed to sign up for Steve’s classes. I wouldn’t want to anyway. It’s many years later and I have yet to hear anybody say that success is the best revenge. Could that be because I’m not successful? I have yet to make any money off of my writing and I still live at home with my parents. Meanwhile, Steve, who never received any kind of punishment for his part in the incident, gets to teach class for as long as he wants and live like a rock star at the expense of his students. This is what the poem “62” means to me: just because you have to get along with people who don’t have to get along with you (the teachers), doesn’t mean that power should be abused. The sooner we recognize the abuses of authority that go on every day, the better off we’ll be as a country. Or as a world, depending on how far you want to take this.

　

***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

VIC MACKEY: You’ll get my report in a couple of days, maybe in a week. If you don’t like the timetable, you can take it up with Gilroy.

DAVID ACEVEDA: I don’t have to. In this building, I’m in charge.

VIC MACKEY: Well, maybe in your own mind, amigo. But in the real world, I don’t answer to you. Not today, not tomorrow, not even on Cinqo De Mayo.

-The Shield-