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can you smell what the mudphudder is cooking?

What is it about professional wrestling that makes it the common denominator for every red-blooded male regardless of age, race, socioeconomic status or health?  From the lowliest of lows to the highest of highs, no male can help but to crack a smile at the thought of professional wrestling.  And you know why?  Because no matter who you are, you know it still rocks.

I know what you are thinking.  And, YES,  the mudphudder does occasionally watch pro-wrestling.  An occasional dose of Friday Night Smackdown never hurt anyone.  More likely is the scenario where the mudphudder will be scanning the channels on TV, run across some pro-wrestling that’s on and pause long enough until a certain individual will nudge him to continue onwards.  Whatever.  Like “Pride and Prejudice” is any better.

I bring this up because we have a chronic schizophrenic on our service right now with very obvious thought disorder and who has that classic Parkinsonian mask-like face from years of taking neuroleptic medications.  Talking to him is like talking to a statue.  The other morning, it was brought up on rounds that he had been watching pro-wrestling on TV and when we asked this patient about it, his normally stone-faced, blank look lightened up and we saw a rare smile curl up on his face.  Not only that, but every other male, from medical student to resident to attending was smiling/chuckling too.  And to be quite honest, when we asked him who was wrestling that night, I’m not so sure we were doing that just to evaluate his mental status rather than just to talk some wrestling.

So I may have turned off two subpopulations of readers: 1) the ladies.  I’m pretty sure that all of the females on rounds were just shaking their heads during that portion of the conversation.  I can dig that.  I think it’s a mostly testosterone-driven phenomenon, so I can understand.  But the mudphudder makes no apologies for watching and talking pro-wrestling.  And 2) the sophisticated gentlemen who are above watching such baseless violence that is tearing at the moral fabric of our country.  Yes, I am referring to the closet pro-wrestling fan.  To this person I say, “Dude!  Let free your true self!  We love you for who you are!”  Once again, the mudphudder makes no apologies.

To conclude, I grew up during the reign of Andre the Giant and Hulk Hogan, who used to tell me to say my prayers and take my vitamins.  And I’ve watched pro-wrestling grow considerably over the last 25 years to become a part of our collective subconscious.  I mean, without having to provide an explanation to anyone present, how many times have you been talking trash talking and said, courtesy of Hulk Hogan, “Watcha gonna do when the [your name]-ster’s 23 inch pythons run wild on you?”  Hmm… Curiously, I used to say this in lab a lot to other graduate students, despite the fact that I don’t have 23 inch pythons.  Moving on though, how many times have you nailed an experiment in lab or scored a goal in your intramural league and screamed, courtesy of the Rock, “Can you smell what [your name] is cooking?!?!?!”

Yeah, I thought so.  That’s what I’m talking about.  Can you smell what the mudphudder is cooking?!??!


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