Have I ever told you that I'm a badass?
Cause I am. A real life, iron-bending, nails-for-breakfast, sleeps-out-in-the-snow-cause-it-makes-you-tougher badass. My young friends here agree with me. Bad. Ass.
Not too long ago, I learned how to surf. Like any natural born athlete and totally amazing badass, I quickly became very good. Exceptionally good. World class, even. Look at that form, the style, the fluidity of motion, the sheer exuberance of movement...
Watch me as I conquer this mighty wave. Notice how big and scary it is. As a natural-born badass, I taunt death on a daily basis, but even for me, this is extreme action. I hope I make it, cause that wave is ENORMOUS.
Oh, she's up! She's riding! She's conquering the blue, dominating the deep, hanging ten, and rockin' out!
Wait. Why are my feet nowhere near the surfboard?
Oops. Maybe I exaggerated that "badass" schtick just a little bit.