An Important Preface: Warning! This editorial is a Red Band Rant and therefore contains extreme language and just about every awful thing you can think of. It’s not recommended for minors, or anyone really, you’re probably better off leaving now and popping in a High School Musical DVD. Neither Cinema Blend nor its esteemed writers support First Degree Murder, Second Degree Murder, Vigilante Justice, Crimes Of Passion, or Blood Atonement. In fact, it should be mentioned the writer of this particular article frowns upon violence, except when it seems the most logical course of action. All those considering bludgeoning a spouse to death and using this diatribe as the crux of a media-made-me-do-it-defense should take heed of this brief preface and brainstorm a new alibi. The truth always unmasks itself. Except with Jack The Ripper. And The Zodiac. And whoever the hell murdered King Tut.
Earlier this week, my 6th favorite wrestler of all-time (Koko B. Ware, Bret Hart, Andre The Giant, One Man Gang, Typhoon) Hulk Hogan told Rolling Stone he understood why O.J. Simpson allegedly murdered two people. “You live half a mile from the 20,000-square-foot home you can’t go to any more, you see a 19-year-old boy driving your Escalade, and you know that a 19-year-old boy is sleeping in your bed, with your wife. I totally understand OJ. I get it.” Not surprisingly, these candid remarks have conjured up a firestorm of greater-than-thou bullshit about how it’s not right to joke about murdering your wife. I guess I just disagree.
Murdering your wife is a perfectly reasonable topic to make light of, as is 9/11, shaken baby syndrome and neck stretching. These things are just inherently funny. That’s not to say they’re not also sad. Take child molestation--probably the singular act I find most offensive in the entire world. First let me tell you why it’s some Ninth Circle Of Hell level shit. Basically, some fucktard, who is usually a creepy ass, forty-something relative or neighbor or local supposed role model, obtrusively forces himself on a defenseless child, forever altering their perspective and confidence and selfishly breaking the innocence said child should have slowly lost on his own terms. But on the other hand, child molestation is also hysterical. Some dude literally plans his entire day around creeping on little kids at the park, then tries to fake an interest in something the adolescent likes and by the time the child realizes this, he’s probably been cornholed. Then things get all awkward during the post rape period and the douche bag pedophile makes up some wild threat about strangling the kid’s puppy or punching his mom in the face if anyone gets wind of the whole cornholing thing. Also, like half the time of all this involves MySpace. Both parties are probably mutually friends with Tom. You see? It all depends on how detached your perspective is.
You either laugh, cry or vent in humorous ways. I’ve always been the guy who vents. Apparently, Hulk Hogan is the guy who vents as well. And if ever there were a time for the whole humorous venting thing, it’s right now. Some dude who can’t even legally drink yet is sticking his likely five-to-seven inch python in the Hulkster’s wife. He’s not allowed in his own home. His kid is being sued for accidentally putting his B.F.F. into a Terri Schiavo-like permanent stupor, and his daughter desperately wishes she could be Lady Gaga. He’s washed up, shelling out tens of thousands in spousal support and doesn’t even live near his buddy from the Nasty Boys anymore. That’s not even O.J. territory, people. At least the Juice was still making movies and pork swording former Playboy models. Hulk is in like Jeffery Dahmer my-grandmother-threw-me-out-because-she-found-me-jerking-off-on-a-mannequin-I-stole-from-a-department-store-so-I-might-as-well-start-eating-people town right now.
But of course he had to apologize. We’re obsessed with prying out fake apologies from people. Obsessed. Michael Phelps regrets smoking weed. Bill Clinton regrets sticking a cigar in Monica’s vag. Jerry Springer regrets paying for that hooker with a personal check. Wah Wah Wah. Let’s just rent out a billboard on the Sunset Strip saying “That Was My Bad” and all sign our names to it as a sort of preemptive commentary on the sinful nature of humanity itself. Lee Malvo would probably contribute a few bucks. But if we’re going that far, let’s just be honest and have the billboard say “I’m Sorry More People Weren’t On Board With This Action/Comment/Decision.”
Because when you get right down to it, that’s all we’re really sorry about. Hulk Hogan said he understands why O.J. stabbed his ex-wife and some waiter like one hundred and eighty seven times each. He said this because he understands why O.J. stabbed his ex-wife and some waiter like one hundred and eighty seven times each. I also understand why. That doesn’t mean I condone ending lives on murderous whims, but sometimes, calm, reserved emotion just isn’t enough. Sometimes you need to joke about putting a pillow over your arch-nemesis’ face. It doesn’t mean you actually plan on it---just that you’re human. Apologizing doesn’t somehow vanquish your real feelings or actions; it just lets everyone know you know most motherfuckers aren’t on board.
I blame the general public’s fickle and contradictory nature. Not to mention the piranha feeding frenzy some of my cohorts here in the media like to involve themselves in. Just look at Jennifer Aniston. She made some catty, bitchy comments about Angelina years after her marriage imploded, seemingly because she just felt like being a bitch, and people fell all over themselves to applaud her for growing a pair and calling out that bitch who wrecked her home. But I guess the Hulkster making light of the fucking cesspool that is his fat ex-wife is over the line. Well, fuck being a cunt for cunt’s sake; I’ll take the humorous venting. Besides, there’s nothing you can do when millions of Hulkamaniac-approved blades run wild all over you.
An Important Postscript: Neither the Cinema Blend Editorial Staff nor the writer of this piece himself seem to have even the vaguest notion of whether this piece is satire, opinion-based journalism or just rambling hate speech. Rather, it seems to exist in its own vacuum of buffoonish, lampooning honesty. If artists use lies to tell the truth and politicians use them to cover it up, I Support The Hulkster’s Murderous Comments uses artists and politicians to lie about the truth. Or maybe truth about the lies. Except with Jack The Ripper. And The Zodiac. And whoever the hell murdered King Tut.