I love the Kanye West, I respect the Kanye West, but his wife

In the strange, thunderous poetry of The Iron Sheik, the words, “I love the Kanye West, I respect the Kanye West, but his wife look like fat penguin. She eat too much cheeseburger and she have no moderation,” strike us not merely as jest, but as parable — the kind of raw, unfiltered truth that the ancients might have wrapped in satire to expose the follies of mankind. Beneath the coarse laughter and the absurd imagery lies a mirror, reflecting both admiration and admonition. The Sheik, in his furious wisdom, embodies the voice of the old world — a man who praises greatness, yet warns against excess, that ancient enemy of balance and virtue.

The origin of this quote springs from the Sheik’s strange blend of reverence and ridicule — a voice both of admiration and of mockery, a kind of modern philosopher disguised as a madman. Like the jesters of kings, he speaks truth through exaggeration. He says, “I love and respect Kanye,” acknowledging the artist’s genius and fire, but follows it with a scathing metaphor that cuts at the vanity of indulgence. His words about the “fat penguin” and “too much cheeseburger” are not about one woman, but about human appetite itself — the modern disease of abundance, where glory is often drowned in gluttony and fame fattens the ego faster than food fattens the body.

The ancients spoke often of moderation, the golden mean of Aristotle, who taught that virtue lives between extremes. The Iron Sheik, in his outrageous way, calls back to that same principle. He is the wild prophet shouting in the marketplace, reminding us that even amidst wealth, beauty, and adoration, the greatest downfall begins with the loss of restraint. In his fury and vulgarity, he reminds the modern world that discipline — whether of body, spirit, or appetite — is the foundation of respect. Without it, even the greatest among us stumble into absurdity, like gods mocked by their own reflection.

One might recall the story of Alexander the Great, who conquered the known world but could not conquer his own desire for wine. His empire stretched across continents, yet his lack of moderation brought him to ruin before his thirty-third year. The Sheik, in his comedic blasphemy, echoes that same warning: that no throne, no fame, no beauty can withstand the slow corrosion of self-indulgence. His words, though dressed in ridicule, are the voice of the desert elder, weary of seeing the proud fall to pleasures they cannot master.

We might laugh at his phrasing — the image of the “fat penguin,” the cheeseburgers, the chaotic grammar — yet that laughter conceals an uncomfortable recognition. For in truth, he speaks to our own gluttony, not merely of food, but of attention, validation, and desire. The modern age feeds endlessly, consuming without pause — fame, entertainment, pleasure — until the spirit grows heavy and the soul becomes dull. The Sheik’s scorn is not cruel; it is the tough love of an old warrior who has seen too many champions fall to softness.

There is also a certain paradoxical tenderness in his words. “I love the Kanye West, I respect the Kanye West” — the repetition is almost poetic, a chant of affection before the storm of critique. He reminds us that love and criticism are not opposites; in the tradition of true mentorship, they are bound. The elder corrects the younger not out of hate, but out of reverence for potential. The Sheik’s mockery, therefore, is an act of devotion — a call for greatness to remember humility, for brilliance to remember discipline.

From this we learn a lesson that the ancients knew well: admire brilliance, but never idolize indulgence. Respect talent, but do not be blinded by glamour. To live well is to master appetite, to feast without excess, to create without arrogance. Whether in art, power, or the simplest pleasures of life, moderation is the mark of wisdom. Let the Sheik’s wild laughter echo as a strange kind of scripture for the modern soul — reminding us that truth sometimes wears the mask of madness, and wisdom, when stripped of its elegance, still burns bright in the heart of a fool who dares to speak.