A few months back I met one of my idols, the Immortal Hulk Hogan.  So I thought I’d write down the orgasmic experience for all of you Hulkamaniacs.  My friend, Booger and I saw an ad on TV where they were having a meet and greet with a few legends of wrestling down in St Louis.  Seeing as both Booger and I are former backyard wrestling champions we thought it’d be a good idea to get down there and talk shop with some other wrestling champs.  Problem was the tickets cost $300 and at the time we were both making pizzas for a living.  But it was Hulk Hogan and we were going to try and sneak in.  Plus, it was at a casino – the icing on the cake for a gambling addict like me.

      We called up our buddy Andy (the former commissioner/ring announcer of our backyard wrestling promotion) and had him get us some tickets for the wrestling pay per view that was going to be happening the night after the meet and greet.  So with tickets in hand we headed down to St Louis in hopes of rubbing shoulders with the greatest entertainer in the history of the world.  The whole ride I kept thinking about when I won best costume one Halloween at Killarney’s Irish Pub for my Hulk Hogan outfit.  The main reason I won that night was because after 10,000 whiskey and cokes I thought it would be a super idea to rip my shirt off like Hulk Hogan used to do in the ring.  Problem is I had pale man boobs and not the glistening chest of a Greek God like the Hulkster.  Then I thought even further back about the 10 inch plastic toy of Hulk I had when I was kid.  I used to take a magnifying glass to his nuts until I burned a hole through them.  That’s normal right?

     So we get to the casino and go straight up to the meet and greet.  The area is roped off and there were two security guards so we walk around acting like we’re supposed to be there.  We can see into the meet and greet and get a glimpse of some of the wrestlers but still haven’t spotted Hogan.  We sit around waiting; dead sober mind you, like a couple of 7 grade girls with Beiber-fever.  Two sober, burly, adult, red headed, heterosexual life-mates waiting to get a glimpse of a man who spends most of his time in yellow underwear, a bandana and leather boots really makes you put your life into perspective. 

     At this point we are sitting right outside the conference room.  It was me, Booger and two wrestling fans – a guy and a girl.  This is rare to see a guy WITH a girl at a wrestling event so we were naturally intrigued and struck up some conversation.  Pretty sure they ended up being brother and sister…but they gave off the feeling that they were having sex with each other.  I could go on forever about this couple but that’s for another blog.

     So then the doors open to the conference room and we get a glimpse of a guy named Eric Bischoff.  He’s a pretty big name in the wrestling world; he used to be the guy who ran WCW, a now defunct wrestling show that aired on TNT.  He was a dickhead but we got a picture with him.  I looked him dead in the eyes and saw no soul like his eyes had nothing beyond them.  It was surreal.  It was probably the Xanax kicking in.  His not mine, don’t worry.  So that gave us a little blood flow to the nether region but nothing compared to the rock hard chubs we were about to produce…

    “Danny, Danny it’s fucking Hulk Hogan,” Booger shouted!  Holy Shit! Holy Shit!  Sure enough Hogan had to take a piss break during the event and we just happened to be right by the shitters.
    “Hulk, can I get a picture?”  We managed to yelp out like a couple pussies.  

    “Not now, brother, I gotta piss!”  HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT

    Not only did Hogan call me “brother” but he told me he had to piss.  Coolest conversation I’ve ever had hands down.  So needless to say the Boogeyman and I were screaming like school girls, Boog best described it as the scene from Raising Arizona when John Goodman and that other dude are in the car screaming at the top of their lungs.  Watch this link and you'll know how we felt.  //www.youtube.com/watch?v=LmL4f8ZwYfU
We were invincible.  Life had officially peaked. Or so we thought…

    The event was coming to an end.  All the trailer trash was oozing out of the conference room like a Dutch oven fart, each one with a picture and autograph in hand.  We were pretty content with Hogan telling us he had to piss but we saw a small window of opportunity to try and meet him so we went for it.  We snuck inside the conference center only to find it was a hallway outside the actual conference center.  Fuck.  

    At this point we see Hulk again and he’s surrounded by about ten locally hired bodyguards.  Boogs and I happened to both be wearing black collared shirts and khaki’s (we dressed up for the event because it was a huge fucking deal, ok?).  Just our luck too, every single body guard was wearing the exact same thing we were.  So I walked up the only black body guard (I’m down with the homies), “Yo what’s good my man” I said in attempt to let this dude know I was one of the “cool” white dudes.  I’m a fat Irishmen trying to act black. It’s like 7 grade all over again (RIP Tupac).  But luckily the jive talkin’ worked.  I proceeded to ask him if he cared if I got past him to deal with the next round of security guards to try and get a pic.  At this point he made his $100 bucks to watch the door and he was ready to go smoke a blunt and eat a mayonnaise sandwich so he said “fuck it” and let us in.  Can I go one blog without a stereotype?  

    I had tunnel vision and never even realized I left the Boogyman behind in a survival of the fittest attempt to meet the Immortal one.  I look back and Boogy is literally running towards me.  We were ten feet away at this point.  He was a freak of nature.  His features in his face were larger than life and his arms were like tree trunks.  I went in first for the pic, “Hey brother can I get a pic?”  I said in an attempt to sound like him.  Man, I’m pathetic.  Then Boog jumped in and it looked like he was going to faint.  That’s all we said.  I had planned out everything I was going to say to him, tell him my life story, explain to him the story of burning his nut sack with a magnifying glass and tell him how I puked my brains out and woke up wearing red and yellow feather boas after Halloween circa 2005.  But all I did was ask for a picture.  What a pussy.

    Oh yea, then Booger and I lost a combined $650 at the casino L  If your keeping track that’s $50 more than it would have cost to just buy a ticket to the meet and greet.  Fuck my life.