A niche market post

When I was in the seventh grade, I lived, ate, breathed, sweat and often watched professional wrestling.  I knew the moves (I still know the moves), I did the moves, I had the moves done on me.  I set a bar for what was the  pinnacle of young fandom. 

It has been shattered. 

Bum Goon is in my seventh grade class.  He has a round face with not a lot of chin, a bowl cut and eyes that never open up all the way, but are never the less always smiling.  If you ask Bum Goon to preface a question with 'who' he'll ask "who is the most electrifying man in sports entertainment history?"  If you ask him to use 'what' he'll ask "what is The Rock cooking?"  And if you don't ask him anything at all he'll turn to his partner and tell him "choke slam.  I'm the World Heavyweight Champion."

When the class had group presentations on what they would need to take some form of public transportation to the moon, Bum Goon told us how he'd be taking the Undertaker to drive the space-bus and tombstone pile drive any attacking aliens.  When I gave the class a word search and asked them to find words that were not on the list underneath, he did not take it sitting down when I told him that 'HHH' as it is a proper name, didn't count. 

I ended up counting it. 

And on Monday, May 23rd, after the weekend that was heralded as the Apocalypse by some people with a radio station, when I asked Bum Goon if he had heard the sad news it took him a second.  "What sad news?" he said.  And then, "Oh, Macho Man Savage.  Yes that is very sad."