The Bad-Ass Blues.
It's tough being The Ultimate Bad-Ass. Nothing but work really. An endless stream of challenges and challengers. An ever flowing line of punks geeks and posers out to make a name for themselves. I think I may have blown my damned rotator-cuff scaling a building earlier this week in search of drugs and women [don't ask]. Does that mean I'm not going to thumb out your eye while I work your gut with my good hand? Hell no. Being a Bad-Ass isn't a 9 to 5 sort of gig. It's a way of life. Late afternoon alarms disregarded to allow for healing time. Breakfasts of hard liquor and dinners of hard women. It's all about abusing yourself more than the next guy. Once you accept that your body is the enemy the borders of what you can and cannot destroy dissolve. I once headbutted a cow. Killed the sad bastard.
A while back some local up and coming film maker thought it would be funny to print off "I Took Down The Ultimate Bad-Ass." T-shirt's. Some sick genius named Coop who knew I couldn't let something like that go without issue. He handed them out to unwitting street kids and local radio personalities. Gave them to Satanic Church-Goers and playground meth-heads. Slipped them in the mail slots of homes for the developmentally disabled. He then planted hidden cameras in the vortex of the shit-storm and planned on cashing in on the footage. 90% of the time when I explained who I was and what I would do the owner of the shirt they were more than willing to remove it or simply let me spray paint them. The other 10%...well. Let's just say I'm not expecting an X-mas card from Lincoln Elementary. When I finally caught up with Coop he was already working sales angles with Spike. He will be crapping in a bag attached to his hip for the rest of his life.
You can't even trust family not to slip a blade in when you're not looking. Makethemselves into local heroes for single-handedly dethroning the tyrant king of the north. Just the other morning I had to stab my Grandmother as she served me Decon-flapjacks. Nothing in the torso. Just a little poke on the hand to make sure it didn't happen again. She put the derringer next to the syrup knowing full well I knew she was packing. She'd been eyeing the back of my neck with hunger. She was hoping to Lenny me and get the front page. I can read the headline now; "Ultimate Bad-Ass Capped By Granny." That's the sort of shit Leno lives for.
I very nearly killed a woman with a pineapple. She was hired she-meat for a local dealer who didn't like how I paid in teeth that weren't always gold. He thought it would be funny to get the most sick/twisted Typhoid Mary in his harem and send her my way. He thought, as many have, that a little puss shooting out my pee-hole would put me off my game. Cock-pain is like an ultra-roid that tears it's way to your ears via the spine. White lightning that makes you shiver with unholy power. The stupid girl had the audacity to return to my door with a needle and a bottle while I was carving some pineapple [it's a miracle cure for prostate related infections]. I had the choice of going after her with the cleaver or the fruit. She got off lucky.
Next week I'm taking on the junior varsity women's hockey team. Their captain had the audacity to call me a misogynist after a particularly spirited spanking. She no doubt believed that just because I have a cock that can split rock I can't pick up a book now and again. Misogynist? Those are fighting words. What I am is an equal opportunity ass-kicker. I will make your rectum distend from gut kicks regardless of your age, gender, faith, race, or personal handicap. There is only one division I see in this world; Me and Them. Next week "Them" is about 24 well-built 15 to 18 year old girls with large wooden sticks and angst. I'm gonna get Coop to film this one for posterity. He owes me a favor.
A while back some local up and coming film maker thought it would be funny to print off "I Took Down The Ultimate Bad-Ass." T-shirt's. Some sick genius named Coop who knew I couldn't let something like that go without issue. He handed them out to unwitting street kids and local radio personalities. Gave them to Satanic Church-Goers and playground meth-heads. Slipped them in the mail slots of homes for the developmentally disabled. He then planted hidden cameras in the vortex of the shit-storm and planned on cashing in on the footage. 90% of the time when I explained who I was and what I would do the owner of the shirt they were more than willing to remove it or simply let me spray paint them. The other 10%...well. Let's just say I'm not expecting an X-mas card from Lincoln Elementary. When I finally caught up with Coop he was already working sales angles with Spike. He will be crapping in a bag attached to his hip for the rest of his life.
You can't even trust family not to slip a blade in when you're not looking. Makethemselves into local heroes for single-handedly dethroning the tyrant king of the north. Just the other morning I had to stab my Grandmother as she served me Decon-flapjacks. Nothing in the torso. Just a little poke on the hand to make sure it didn't happen again. She put the derringer next to the syrup knowing full well I knew she was packing. She'd been eyeing the back of my neck with hunger. She was hoping to Lenny me and get the front page. I can read the headline now; "Ultimate Bad-Ass Capped By Granny." That's the sort of shit Leno lives for.
I very nearly killed a woman with a pineapple. She was hired she-meat for a local dealer who didn't like how I paid in teeth that weren't always gold. He thought it would be funny to get the most sick/twisted Typhoid Mary in his harem and send her my way. He thought, as many have, that a little puss shooting out my pee-hole would put me off my game. Cock-pain is like an ultra-roid that tears it's way to your ears via the spine. White lightning that makes you shiver with unholy power. The stupid girl had the audacity to return to my door with a needle and a bottle while I was carving some pineapple [it's a miracle cure for prostate related infections]. I had the choice of going after her with the cleaver or the fruit. She got off lucky.
Next week I'm taking on the junior varsity women's hockey team. Their captain had the audacity to call me a misogynist after a particularly spirited spanking. She no doubt believed that just because I have a cock that can split rock I can't pick up a book now and again. Misogynist? Those are fighting words. What I am is an equal opportunity ass-kicker. I will make your rectum distend from gut kicks regardless of your age, gender, faith, race, or personal handicap. There is only one division I see in this world; Me and Them. Next week "Them" is about 24 well-built 15 to 18 year old girls with large wooden sticks and angst. I'm gonna get Coop to film this one for posterity. He owes me a favor.
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