Rest in piss, fascist clown

It's crazy to think about what a big deal it was for me when Hogan turned heel in the ring. I knew wrestling was scripted, but adolescent me still felt betrayed by a hero. I had to come to terms with the worldview that people aren't inherently anything, and things change. It also helped me separate the acting from real life, realizing that the facade you present to the world can be anything you want. It shook me to my core, but it was an important lesson for a little hulkamaniac.

Seeing the cracks in his facade fall away, revealing the grotesque shitbag behind the bandanna, that was just further disappointment and sadness. I had already let go of the hero that I thought existed, but seeing him be himself retconned my entire childhood. The happy memories of jumping off a bunk bed in my underwear are tainted by the realization that I was being manipulated by monsters.

Monsters are real, and they've shed their disquises. One of them is dead, and the world is better for it.

He was a perfect pawn for Peter Theils coup of Gawker.