Apparently, without even trying, I keep shocking everybody.
I didn’t know living to be 50 was such a big deal — or something to be despised or ridiculed. Of course, not many former WWF, or even today’s WWE, wrestlers hang around alive long enough to celebrate their 50th birthday.
I always thought, though, that the mindless misfits and useful idiots charged with commentating on the industry could at least have started and continued that whole posthumous birthday homage media and entertainment pay to all their dead criminal heroes and OD’ed drug addicts. You know, like when they say, “Che Guevara would be 125 today if he wasn’t a thug and murderer who deserved to be executed…long live the revolution!” or, “If Elvis had never left the building and choked to death on his own puke while passed out on his toilet, ladies and gentlemen, he’d be 93 today.” I guess this kind of thing doesn’t go over too well for dead wrestlers though when the Memorial Wrestlefest held in their name craps out after the first year. Still, just a thought.
I really don’t know what my problem is. I guess it’s just that I really enjoy being alive. All of us have our little idiosyncrasies, you know. One of mine is getting myself out of bed each morning instead of putting the coroner through the hassle. Even with all the support, guidance, insight and marketing that’s been done, I just haven’t been able to pull this self-destruction thing off, get it to work right like all the others have.
This video (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NO1Yn2V8TCw) came close to pushing me into that absolute zero zone you need to enter to get the job done right. But by its end my urge was gone and a peacefulness came over me like I never felt before. Serious…even if the Dalai Lama had walked into the room his presence could not have deepened the tranquility I was experiencing at the moment. This excellently produced piece of footage made me feel so good to be alive — and living with my head in the present, not up my ass.
Maybe I’m just not trying hard enough. I don’t know. And sad as all my failure at this is, to make matters even worse, I just can’t find it in myself to even apologize. I simply have no remorse. I’m so not sorry for letting so many down. The only thing I have to offer, I suppose, is that I will keep on living. I know, it’s shameful.
Alright, let’s shelve the sarcasm.
For you self-thinkers, who make the effort and do the work yourselves to find out the truths about me and all other things that truly make your lives work, next week I’ve got another Warrior’s Journal coming on line and also a substantive, meaningful post about what’s going through my mind here as I look back at the now gone 18,534 days of my life. In the Warrior’s Journal I will be profiling Marcus Aurelius’s classic, “Meditations.” I believe you’ll enjoy it.
Your Founding Father of Ring Intensity and Life Motivation,
This is horrible. Just tragic. Hard to believe. The whole city is emotionally devastated. It will take a long, long time for the community’s mourning to end. One witness to the evil crime said, “Just makes you really think about what is truly valuable.”
The mall reopens for holiday shopping tomorrow.
Apparently, if you aren’t on or can’t be found on the internet, you might not be doing well. According to expert wrestling fans with no other interests and too much wasted time on their fingers poking at their keyboards or their many other “mind-dumbing” techno gadgets, you may even be self-destructing. Even when your absence and silence is otherwise generating NO perverse gossip, police reports or obituaries, you are still pestered by kooks and goofs and nutjobs believing your lack of presence on the internet means something must obviously be wrong in your life.
It seems that many believe it is no longer reasonable that a man can live a productive, fulfilling and happy life if he does not engage the infinite void of cyberspace. No, not today, not in these 21st century times of now, now, now and more, more, more. It’s simply impossible today that a man can devote his time to enjoying his own life, his own thoughts and his own company or the lives, friendship and interaction of his own family without others thinking he must be wasting his time and wasting away physically, mentally and spiritually while he’s at it.
Of course, I am accustomed to disappointing people. So it is that I can only report that all is over-the-top well here in Warriorland. Healthy, happy, alive — you know, the same ol’ traditional and exciting routine. Plenty of smiles and silliness — and serious attitude about using life, not squandering it. Things couldn’t be more beautiful than they are. And, no, let me reassure you, my time away from your cheers, high praise and ass-kissing has NOT lowered my self-confidence or testosterone levels one single bit. In fact, I’ve always been rather self-sufficient in that regard, as you know if you’ve been coming around over the years. My huge, healthy, vigorous and potent ego is still large and loud; maybe even more so after this good rest I’ve had away from the nothingness of the internet. Scratch your monitor and you can even smell it. If you rub it real hard with a stiff scrub brush you can even forgo those cheap smelling pine tree and peppermint holiday candles everyone uses to aromatize the air. Tell others it’s your gift to them, that you’re letting them have a whiff of the real thing, the Warrior thing.
Anyway, I was chopping some wood today to burn in the 8 fireplaces we have in our humble, little Warrior abode and all of sudden I became overwhelmed by a huge rush of emotion. I was thinking about how great my life was and how sad it is that so many waste theirs on the internet trying to desperately figure out the lives of others, or worse, trying to figure out who they themselves are and what their own lives are all about to begin with. Then I almost fell into tears thinking about that recent Teddy Bear/ Mohammed incident. Just tragic how it turned out the way it did. Really scary. Sure, I agree the lady should be killed, but for insulting the good, decent and reverent name of Teddy Bear, not Mohammed. I mean, is the World mad or what? *
A dozen cords of lumber into my manly task it hit me that I needed to be more thankful and show my appreciation more often than I have been, no matter the serious risk I could potentially be subjecting myself to by engaging the lifelessness and emptiness of the internet again. So since many of you have been jones-ing for a good bit of time, and even many more of you can’t make up your own minds about important things without knowing what is on my mind first (I know my absence has been the hardest on those of you who can’t think for yourselves), it hit me that that for the sake of humanity, and many’s sanity, I reckon I can make a little time here during the holidays to enliven your existences. After all, it is the season for jolly spirits and Always Believing, right? God, I am such a sucker for the less fortunate in body, mind and soul. I should really consider starting a church of some kind. Sometimes I really do think I missed my calling.
Ah, it’s going to be a great Christmas season. Isn’t it? I can already tell it is. In fact, I’ve noticed that the hair on back is already unusually thick here at the beginning of December. It usually never begins to mat-up before the middle of January, and the texture…unbelievably soft, more like Mink this year, not Raccoon as in years before. There’s so much of it I am almost positive that after shaving off what is necessary to make coats for my girls, my wife may even get that fur coat she’s been dreaming of.
Must be that steroid study I’ve been conducting on myself since July. I was in the Carolinas just after the Benoit incident, you know. And I stumbled across that huge extra stash of steroids he had stockpiled. Yeah, weirdly enough, I found them at one those indian souvenir shops, sitting right next to a bunch of firecrackers. The indian running the joint said one day a big black semi-truck with huge scrawled white letters all down the side of the trailer (he couldn’t make out the word or the letters because he went to a local American public school where they were only taught Cherokee) came through town on its way to a larger city and stopped out front and opened the rear doors up and the whole 53′ truck was full. He said the driver, a skinny, nervous, super-jittery guy, was practically giving the stuff away.
He didn’t know what the stuff was but he bought it all because on the reservations they can sell anything legally and he figured eventually some white man would come through and know what it all was, buy it and he’d make a huge profit. Well, I knew what it was, but he also knew who I was. And, naturally, he was more impressed by who I was than I was by what he had. He also believed we had this whole cosmic “You’re a warrior, I’m a warrior…” connection thing going on. And he was so into it I just didn’t have it in me to disappoint him and tell him we really didn’t have a connection thing going on because Ultimate Warrior, as a persona, was never created around his being an indian in the classic cowboys and indians sense. The truth is, I side with the cowboys not the indians, and I consider myself a Native American in the accurate sense. Moreover, I don’t really appreciate that the indians, the bow and arrow kind, use the term in the misleading way that they for too long have. I mean, I was born here, in America, so I, too, am a Native American. I don’t have to say my ancestors lived in a teepee and wore feathers in their hair, or yelp like a hyena or weave blankets or burn smudge sticks and smoke tax-free cigarettes to know I am one. Neither do you if you were born here. But we’ll save that politically-incorrect discussion for another time. So, anyway, I went along with the roleplaying he was doing and used his belief to my advantage and negotiated with him until he took a pair of my underwear that I agreed to draw my Ultimate Warrior logo on, which he knew would always thereafter hold special powers. Funny, huh? Be back a little later to discuss my experiment — and many other things.
Your Founding Father of Ring Intensity,
*(Neither has my wonderful, sarcastic, politically-incorrect sense of humor suffered in any way. It is still very much in intact.)
I was searching for some MMA fighting instruction and I found this classic piece.