Beware, those of you who only like your muscular, spandex clad heroes and villains to remain inside comicdom, for this post contains a wrestling reference! It’s not really about that, though, because as a fan, I totally missed the Iron Sheik in his prime. This past year, however, few things have made me happier on a more consistent basis than his Twitter feed.
Yes, I know it may well not really be him – for what it’s worth, my father-in-law, who knows some Mid-East languages, says the speech patterns are consistent with a Farsi native adapting to English. But whether it is or isn’t, I like the comfort of knowing that no matter how bad my day is going, nobody is trying to break my back and make me humble, and whatever I do, I will always be better than “no good motherfucker the Mel Gibson” or “the Hulk Hogan piece of shit.” And however angry I get, I rarely wish for anyone to get raped by dead dogs and/or the corpse of Michael Jackson and the Ultimate Warrior’s grandmother.
On the other hand, despite repeated commands to “buy my new shirt or go fuck yourself,” I have resisted, because the Sheik’s shirts weren’t too good, relying on cheap photocopied images or simple clip art. They weren’t worthy of a Twitter legend or a wrestling legend.
Sold. The picture’s still a bit rough around the edges, but so is the Sheik, in every way.