It’s been a rough week for Gen X — and now we’ve lost Hulk Hogan

It’s been a week of tremendous loss for us Gen-X kids. The last few days on social media has felt like one long requiem for the pop culture of the 1980s and ’90s.

First, lovable “Cosby Show” star Malcolm-Jamal Warner — aka Theo Huxtable — tragically drowned while swimming in Costa Rica, at only 54 years old. Then Prince of Darkness Ozzy Osbourne passed away at 76. On Thursday, wrestling icon Hulk Hogan fulfilled the old saying that death comes in threes.

And, oh brother, that last one was a dropkick to my heart. Like for legions of others, sadness is running wild all over my precious childhood memories of a time when Hulkamania reigned.

At 71, Hogan was relatively ancient for a pro wrestler whose body had endured years of back-breaking acrobatic maneuvers, corrective surgeries and admitted steroid abuse. So many of his fellow performers who toiled in the ring went to early graves.

But as a friend remarked Thursday, it felt like Hogan — real name was Terry Bollea — was never going to die.

It’s been a long time since he was the young stud who convincingly played Thunderlips, “The Ultimate Male,” in “Rocky III,” a role that would turn Hogan into a superstar and take pro wrestling into a golden age. And I’m sure he was no longer strong enough to scoop up and body-slam a man of Andre the Giant’s stature, like he did in 1987 at Wrestlemania III.

But decades on, Hogan remained faithful to his shtick and his platinum horseshoe mustache.

Last summer, he burst into the Republican National Convention with his high-octane personality, shouting and gesticulating like vintage Hogan. He seemingly hadn’t lost a step — even performing his patented move of vigorously tearing off his shirt … revealing not his abs but a Trump/Vance T-shirt.

His rousing speech and presence assured the RNC was a proper Trumpian circus, leaving the party’s stodgy pearls and sweater-set culture of yore in the dirt. Pundits can argue over the merits of such an appearance but, thanks to Hogan, the night was not lacking in entertainment.

That was his specialty. Hogan was an enduring showman.

Fittingly, Hogan’s theme song was Rick Derringer’s “Real American.” As a young performer, he personified the boldness of the United States of America in the 1980s, helping to export our culture to a global audience. A 6-foot-7, he was big, he was golden-haired, he was optimistic and he was always flexing his massive muscles.

You might say he was the American dream come to life.

As a country, we had no better hypeman than when he swooped his hand to his ear — demanding more celebration from the crowd.

Hogan also exuded a wholesomeness, regularly reminding kids to “say your prayers, eat your vitamins…be a real American.”

Transcending the ring, he set the blueprint for megastars like John Cena and Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson to take over Hollywood.

Like Forrest Gump, he managed to pop up in almost every major part of American life: movies, sports, reality television — and, yes, even a consequential 2016 trial that grappled with the First Amendment and privacy rights.

The latter was the result of Gawker.com leaking a sex tape Hogan had made with a friend’s wife — one of a few scandalous moments in his very public life. Secretly backed by billionaire Peter Thiel, who also had an ax to grind against the site, Hogan sued the outlet in a trial that proved as sensational as a wacky WWE storyline. Hogan emerged victorious, and about $31 million richer.

In one surreal moment, he appealed to the judge to allow him to wear his trademark bandana in court. Request granted.

Life always imitated art with Hogan, a master of kayfabe. He was delightfully ridiculous.

To quote the man himself: “Hulkamania will live forever.”