Wrestling is great because wrestling is thoroughly batsh*t crazy; even when the mundanities of RAW drag you down, you can simply relive the incredible tale of, for example, the Plane Ride From Hell.
Everybody knows it by now: the last generation of grizzled, autonomous lunatics, perhaps by fate, sensed that the corporate sheen of scripted monopoly was set to make their kind extinct. And so they threw an outrageous end-of-days party up in the sky, the demented behaviour at which ranged from genuinely hilarious (good ol' southern racist boy Michael Hayes got his ponytail lopped by X-Pac moments after almost pissing all over Linda McMahon), rather dangerous (Brock Lesnar and Mr. Perfect's amateur wrestling match) to very distressing (a lawsuit filed against Ric Flair, who allegedly sexually assaulted two flight attendants, was settled out of court).
Sid was the embodiment of that GTA meme, only, instead of carrying a sh*tload of guns, his arsenal ranged from hilariously ineffective (a squeegee) to deadly (a pair of scissors, with which he attempted to murder Arn Anderson). The Dynamite Kid once ribbed the British Bulldog to inject his ar*e cheek with milk, and it is the most wholesome thing he ever did. Wrestling is insane.