Bacon prices absolutely soared this past week in response to their piggy provenance doing likewise, following news that perennial persona non grata and fellow fan of excessive alliteration, Jeff Jarrett, is to be inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame.
Truly, nothing is sacred. Not even hatred. If you can't believe in the sanctity of contempt, what can you believe in?
The bitter feud between the psuedo-country music star and the boss he famously extorted out of a cool $[arbitrary-large-figure-dependent-on-the-source] seemed like one we could depend on. Given the historical animus, a grave suddenly being dug for their shared axe - and a Hall of Fame induction to boot - seems just a tad strange. Even slightly disappointing.
But time - albeit quite a lot of it - really does heal all McWounds. Bret Hart eventually mellowed over the years. Bruno Sammartino did the same. The Ultimate Warrior... well, he didn't, but he made amends all the same. Jarrett? Pfft, what's $300,000 between friends, right?
Double J's induction is still weird then, but only a bit weird, like David Arquette winning an Academy Award for Best Actor. It's highly improbable, but technically plausible. Some of his future hall-mates, on the other hand, are massively weird. Like if David Arquette won a wrestling world heavyweight title, and was later inducted himself.
Benjamin was born in 1987, and is still not dead. He variously enjoys classical music, old-school adventure games (they're not dead), and walks on the beach (albeit short - asthma, you know).
He's currently trying to compile a comprehensive history of video game music, yet denies accusations that he purposefully targets niche audiences. He's often wrong about these things.