Ultimate's Upbringing in Parts Unknown

The Ultimate Warrior, a pop-culture relic who wrestled in a Speedo and claimed to hail from Parts Unknown, has renamed himself Mr. Warrior and now maintains a blog. On this blog, he posts artwork of primal-looking sketches accompanied by motivational quotes from historical figures. The space he occupies on the Internet is surprisingly legit and interesting.

I sent him some a comment, which he promptly returned. The YouTube videos I mention, by the way, are a real source of some of the bizarre sayings attributed to the Ultimate Warrior.

"Persistence. The only thing that will piss-off failure enough to get the fuck out of the way of your success."

I love that quote!

The quotations you apply to your artwork from other bold and imaginative minds are great, as well. The Frederick Douglass quote about incurring ridicule from others for not conforming to their expectations, for instance.

I have to confess, I get a kick out of watching interviews from your tenure in the WWF on Youtube. They were quite silly and eccentric. But more than that, they were wildly entertaining. Plus, you don't seem to be troubled by the negative things people happen to think about you. Although I enjoyed pro-wrestling in my youth, I am now a cynic of its pageantry, and yet, after browsing through your blog, I have gained a newfound respect for you. You seem dedicated to the creation of some heartfelt artwork.

Best wishes to you and your family. Take care now.

Sincerely,

Nick Olig

Re: Nick, hello. Thanks for taking the time to write and comment.

My career creating and performing Ultimate Warrior was an (sic) great and inspiring time. Also, wildly entertaining. A huge amount of creativity USED TO go into developing your ring persona. Things have changed in that regard. I'm very proud of what I achieved in the business--more proud of how I've moved on in my life and used the experiences and life lessons form that time in my life to stay creative and inspired. Still being ALIVE is a good thing. Different than most believe, intensity for life is NOT an act for me. This life I have is NOT a dress rehearsal, and I will NOT disrespect it that way.


Always Believe,

Warrior

My ten-year-old self would be elated. My modern day, manchild-self was mildly thankful for the morsels of material Mr. Warrior had unwittingly donated to this story—which is a biography of the Warrior's life in Parts Unknown as told by his old friend, a nebbish, mythological Griffin.

###

“Behold my presence, brothers.” That is a common greeting where I come from, a town called Parts Unknown. We even say that to the women. Parts Unknown, I must confess, is not renowned for chivalry or equal rights among the sexes. The only thing our women can vote on is the name of their children. Their husbands also get a vote on the matter, which counts for 51% to the woman's 49.

It's a chauvinistic culture here in Parts Unknown. In my more idealistic teenage years, I felt gravely perturbed by my hometown's dismissal of all Progressive notions; shortly after graduation, I flew the coup. I didn't last too long on the outside, though. The same sensitivity that prompted my escape from Parts Unknown left me vulnerable to the judgments of Normals. They gave me the leper treatment. When I returned home, on the verge of total despair, I was not exactly welcomed, but accepted nonetheless. The elders decreed that I could stay, on the condition that I never leave again, nor foul the minds of the children with wild and foolish tales of existence outside of Parts Unknown. I was given a menial job as a paperboy and a modest dwelling above an alchemy lab and put on probation for ten years due to my “Radical Conduct.”

Not everyone's departure from Parts Unknown was ill-fated, however. A few thrived, even. I have crossed paths with the subject of this letter and wish to tell you Normals about his upbringing in our fantastically quirky town. The man made quite a splash in the pro-wrestling racket years ago. His name is the Ultimate Warrior.

Born on the 16th of June in the Year of the Minotaur to parents Mighty and Athena, the first and only addition to the Warrior clan uttered his first words without delay. In a spasm of wiggling limbs, moments after his umbilical cord was chopped off by the ceremonial ax, he bellowed, “The Intensity of Gorillius, God of Combat, courses through my veins as Summer Slam draws nigh!” He made this announcement many years before Summer Slam, the WWF pay-per-view event, was first held. The Ultimate Warrior claims he had an unforgettable and profound vision inside his mother's womb. What may have seemed like complete gibberish back then is now heard as mostly gibberish to the ears of most Normals.

His mother wanted to name him Doug, by the way. Fortunately, his father voted otherwise.

The closest thing we have to baptism in Parts Unknown is the Newborn's Rite of Power. There is no Holy Water involved in the Rite. Instead, once the newborn can stand on his own feet, he must body-slam a baby rhino for initiation into the Church of Brazen Souls. The Ultimate Warrior still holds the record for youngest Parts Unknowner to accomplish the challenge. What's more, he executed not a mere scoop-slam but a gorilla-press slam on the baby rhino, hoisting the beast above his head and posing for ten seconds before heaving the poor beast onto his back.

As a toddler, the Ultimate Warrior's favorite toy was the tusk of woolly mammoth, which he discovered while digging a hole in his parent's backyard. He loved to throw it like a spear and impale bee hives, as well as treat the tusk like a baseball bat to club the skulls of decomposed Bigfoots long distances with a steep arc. When I was just learning how to fly, one of those airborne Bigfoot skulls clipped my wing and sent me into a frantic tailspin. I crash-landed in the Warrior family's backyard, badly bruised. Athena rushed outside, took the tusk from her son in a frenzy of motherly admonishment, and tended to my wounds. I whimpered meekly as she dabbed the blood-soiled feathers of my left wing. The Ultimate Warrior seethed from across the lawn, no doubt cursing me under his breath for being so foolish as to get in the way of a skull he had launched so impressively. His mother noticed this, too. An indignant tear trickled down her face-paint, rolling into a glob of radiant color that dropped from her cheekbone as she turned to him.

“You have brought harm to a fellow creature, Ultimate, for careless and vain reasons the Gods of Combat now frown upon. May the shame dwell in your heart until you know what it means to be contrite.”

Her words vexed her son. He took a knee in grave contemplation and nodded. When he looked up and looked me in the eyes, I could see a wild transformation had taken place. With a stolid strut, he walked over to his mother and me.

“I have insulted the Gods of Combat,” he said. “From this day forward, you are my friend, noble bird. You ride on my back for my protection.”

This declaration struck me as a reversal of logic, the sort of expression the Ultimate Warrior would be criticized for saying years later by the likes of Bobby “The Brain” Heenan. But that hardly mattered to me; I had just made my first friend.

Yeah, it's a weird story, but if you read More Stories, and Additional Stories, aside from your soul's forfeiture to Satan the Prince of Darkness, it'll only cost you like $2.99. So, we got a fucking deal or what?