The wrestling storylines today are mostly just the
WWE storylines, and that storyline’s largest manufactured arc is that somehow
the Royal Rumble leads up to Wrestlemania season. This of course is all trash
storylines compared to back when wrestling was a myriad of regional promotions
ran like degenerate improv theater, where the writers were basically outliners
and the ridiculous characters who fell through the cracks into the wrestling
business fleshed out the details, often times outlandishly. What I’m saying is
despite the resurgence in digital appreciation for the wrestling arts, the WWE
is fucking boring. And it always has been. But if you tell somebody that, they
get mad at you, if they are a wrestling fan. But being a wrestling fan and
thinking the WWE is great is akin to saying you love having sex but all you’ve
ever had is straight missionary. You have barely even explored what it means,
and to be honest, haven’t even gotten to the good stuff.
But we are also America, a prudish culture that
has built this myth that we are bold because of our freedoms. Yet most people
are afraid to express themselves in any true fashion, and thus the repressive
expression of the WWE is perfect as a performative act of quirkiness. But in
actuality, it is no coincidence that Vince McMahon’s wife Linda is part of
Donald Trump’s governing team. The WWE and Donald Trump are fraternal brothers,
and the pretend change “drain the swamp” antics of Trump which have given us open
fascism are the result of years of social conditioning that the WWE’s
professional wrestling has given us. All this didn’t happen overnight – we were
primed for decades.
Anyways, it’s Royal Rumble weekend, which is a buffet
of boring chemically enhanced performers, mixed in with faded stars of
yesteryear, meant to create a nostalgic pop in the greater markdom, in order to
spark a desire to give half a fuck about the upcoming Wrestlemania, which pretends
to be a Super Bowl of sorts, thus tying the Royal Rumble to Wrestlemania
build-up into Super Bowl weekend, and the twin sports entertainment arms of
American fascism (football and wrestling, neither of which is actually what it
claims to be).
We are not doomed, but we’re way more fucked than
anybody seems willing to admit. There will be a period of nihilistic degeneracy,
as exemplified by this Westside Gunn (and Griselda Records crew) track named
after Wrestlemania 20. I am too old now to look forward to this period, but fuck
it, you play the hand you’re dealt, even if the dealer is dealing from the
bottom of the deck, your entire life.
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