Raise your hand if you’re pumped for Goldberg to be back. ✋
If you haven’t witnessed the unbridled glory of professional wrestling’s favorite Semite make his triumphant return to the ring in a jacket that screams “single dad with a soft-spot for Tuesday night trips to the gentleman’s club and malt liquor”, you’re a bigger jabroni than I thought.
If this doesn’t give you chills, you don’t have a spine.
This is the most excited I’ve been since Netflix announced “Gilmore Girls” was returning so my girlfriend would shut the fuck up about fan fiction conspiracy theories contemplating Lorelei’s return to Stars Hallow. I can’t look at her the same after Bad Santa, anyways. But that’s neither here nor there.
But, the thought of Bill Goldberg spearing Brock Lesnar is something I’ve dreamed of since roughly the 9th grade, and seeing a jackhammer live, not via pay per minute webcam, would be just what the doctor ordered for the quarter life blues. If Vince McMahon’s ploy was to get me and roughly 10 million other mid-2000’s WCW fans to dust off their nWo shirts, it’s working. He’s got me hook, line and sinker.
Recent post-grads are suckers for nostalgia, just ask Buzzfeed and their $8 trillion valuation. And don’t forget about Fuller House, Girl Meets World and the reboot of Space Jam. For fuck’s sake, Gen Y would suck dick for a new episode of Ren and Stimpy or Carson Daly counting down the top 10 music videos of the day.
I think at this point it’s safe to say that our generations infatuation with our youth and aversion to change has actually killed someone. RIP, for real, Undertaker:
Call me a jabroni, or candy-ass, but I’m jonesin’ for more reminiscence – the only question is: WHO’S NEXT?