Tuesday, October 6, 2015

Badass Fred.

Yeah, we used to get into some trouble when we were kids.

We were badasses.

Still am. 

Everyone nowadays says he's a badass. They consider themselves badasses by nature, engaged in badassery, badassing their way through life. Look, sister, you may be the most badass junior benefits administrator in the HR department, but that don't make you a badass in the world at large. Not like Fred.

Yeah. Fred Badass.

Of course, no one who's really a badass calls himself that. It's like being tough. You have to let other people call you tough. Usually after you just nailgunned your forearm to a plank, ripped it off, rubbed a little dirt onto it, and got back to work. "Wow! Lucy's tough!" they'd say. Sure. Badassishness works the same way.

"But wait!" you say. (That's just like you.) "You're calling yourself a badass, which you just said disqualifies you from badassdom."

That's right---unless you've been at it as long as I have. Then you've gone all the way through and out the other side. Even the rules of badass appellation designation no longer apply.

How long have I been at it? Long time. Me and the boys, we used to go downtown. Me even go alone sometimes. Then us boys would talk about chicks, about fights, about how we were too badass to care about using personal subject pronouns when we should be using personal object pronouns and vice versa. Then we'd get some smokes and a couple of bottles, and raise some badass-flavored hell.


Then we'd hop on our Big Wheels and ride.

'Cause we were badasses.

Over time I got badasser and badasser, until I was the baddest badass of them all.

How bad?

A proctologist once said he'd never seen an ass as bad as me.

Or as bad as I.

Yeah, man. And when this badass shows up, you better watch out. You better not cry. You better not pout.

And I ain't even telling you why.

Badass Fred. Yeah.
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