Since the days of Hulkamania, I've been a wrestling fan.
That's not slandering anybody who gave up on the attraction or entertainment aspect after the second-generation boom in the late '90s, that's just me once again self-deprecating while tossing off a few knife-edged chops in defense. Take that, take that.
Plus, there's nothing more infuriating than being a member of this cycle of wrestling fans and having an argument with someone who's still in the loop to believe everything they see every Monday and Friday night.
For example, my neighbor of some umpteen years believed that Triple H seriously got his arm broken by Brock Lesnar a few months ago. I wanted to slap him and wait for him to scream "IT'S STILL REAL TO ME!" but no such luck. Instead, I brought up Exhibit A in the "wrestlers don't get their arms broken for the sake of a storyline" argument:
Justin Bieber stood next to Triple H at the Mayweather fight. Trips didn't have a sling on his arm.