The Way of the Badass

By Dave Jaffe

(Warning to sensitive readers: The following article contains the word ‘badass’, as does this sentence.)

Bruce Lee was bad for karate.

Were he still with us, I’m confident that comment would momentarily intrigue him enough not to hurt me.

“What . . . what I mean, Mr. Lee, sir,” I’d stammer to him while slowly backing away and toward the parking lot, “What I mean is that you were a total martial arts BADass! And that’s made karate harder for me.”

He’d smirk then, I imagine, and slowly and deliberately flex his . . . well, everything. (He could do that!) Then in cheerful camaraderie he’d clap me on the shoulder and invite me into the nearby tavern for drinks where we’d laugh and chat late into the night or until I got the feeling back in my shoulder. Then we’d depart as friends, and one day I’d write a book about him titled, “Bruce Lee: The Badass Who Broke My Shoulder.”

Those unschooled in the martial arts disciplines often perceive the karate practitioner as a “badass” – that is, a heavily muscled, excessively tattooed, Republican-supporting, belligerent shoulder smacker.

As a seven-year karate student who began practicing at 64, I don’t fit any of the criteria for badass-ery. I don’t have huge muscles; I hire guys like that to move my stuff. My only tattoo is a small, grey mole on my neck that I really should have looked at. I don’t vote Republican, and nowadays won’t allow them near my family. And I’m never belligerent. You’re belligerent!

Jerk!

Yet because of my involvement in the martial arts, sometimes friends expect me to act as a badass. This does not come easily to humor writers and longtime AARP members. Even the heavily muscled ones.

• At the neighborhood barbecue: “I left a dozen 110-pound bags of ice in my trunk. Dave, will you grab those?”
• At the movie theater: “Boy, those teens are really loud and belligerent! Dave?”
• At Thanksgiving with shifty, drunk Uncle Max: “—An’. . . an’ the (bleepin’ bleep) federal auditor sez. . . he says, ‘Yer’ jes’ gonna have to pony up an’ pay all them back taxes.’ You go talk wit’ him, Dave! Ya’ know what I mean, right? ‘Talk’ wit’ him?”

Because of this peer pressure, at times I’ve tried to emulate the flagrant badass characteristics of the villains from 1970s Kung Fu movies: they amble down the street like a constipated John Wayne; their mouths sync poorly; they giggle like that nasally kid who sat by the radiator in your junior high study hall: “Snee-heh-Heh-HEH Sneee-hee-Ha-HAR-Hee-hah! Snee!”

None of these worked. I still came across like an aging humorist working on a funny “bit.” So, for a better education I turned to dogs.

Thanks to their wolf ancestry, dogs are genetically predisposed toward badass-ery — even that yappy little brown fluff-thing down the street whose owner never picks up his poop.

As a survival characteristic, dogs naturally exhibit behaviors meant to intimidate enemies, pack members, and those rubbery orange balls with that little squeaker inside. Also, studies show that dogs can learn these traits from other dogs and even refine them, according to Science with a capital ‘S’.

To pick up some tips, I listened in to the dogs gathered at the off-leash park near my home.

(German Shepherd interrupts dogs wrestling and chasing about park.)

SHEPHERD: “Okay, everyone! Take a last-minute pee and find your seat. . . or just SIT! . . . and we’ll get started.”

BEAGLE: “Are there num-nums! I heard there’d be num-nums.”

SHEPHERD: “We’ll take questions later. Thank you all for coming—”

CORGI: “I was here to poop anyway!”

SHEPHERD: “—to today’s seminar, ‘Are You Lookin’ at Me?: Accessing Your Inner Tough Guy’. Our guest speaker is Minnie the Pit Bull from the Illinois State Police, Undercover Badass Division. Trooper Minnie?”

(A smattering of yips. Some whines.)

TROOPER MINNIE THE PIT BULL: “Thank you! I’m here to teach you how to act like a badass.”

SCHNAUZER: (Whispering to Beagle) “Hsst! Look! She only has half an ear!”

BEAGLE: “Wow! SO badass!”

TROOPER MINNIE: “Being a badass is a mental game. But since we’re dogs, that’s not our long suit. So, let’s work on our stance. Ok, everybody! Shoulders up, head low. Lean into it! You with tails, straighten ‘em. Point it down. Lose the cutesy curl! Now, stare off to the side, just a little. That makes you look kinda crazy. ”

GOLDEN RETRIEVER: “Should I even be doing this? Because, ya’ know, I’m a good dog! Some say a VERY good dog.”

TERRIER MIX: “SHUT up!”

BEAGLE: “We really should get num-nums for this!”

YORKSHIRE TERRIER: “This is bogus! I’m a Yorkie! Can’t get more badass than that!”

TROOPER MINNIE: “Good start, everyone! Next, for those of you who are not hairless, make the fur on your spine stand straight up. Not too much! You want to look tough, but not rabid.”

AFGHAN HOUND: “Tsk! Look what this does to my hairstyle! And I just had a blowout!”

TROOPER MINNIE: “Well done, everyone! You’re on your way to becoming fully accredited badasses. After you complete your training, you’ll receive a special certificate that you can attach to your collar. Are there any questions?”

BEAGLE: “Num-nums?”

TERRIER MIX: “SHUT up!”

DOBERMAN PINSCHER: “Trooper Minnie, should I growl more?”

BICHON FRISE: (Mocking) “Do you need to?”

TROOPER MINNIE: “Great question! My trainer teaches karate. He learned this from something called a ‘Bruce Lee’. Try it with me!  Deep breath . . aaaand—”

(Dogs in unison) “Snee-heh-Heh-HEH Sneee-hee-Ha-HAR-Hee-hah! Snee!”

TROOPER MINNIE: (Proudly) “Totally badass!”

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