Establishing the supreme laws every Badass shall live by . . . and shit.
Nana passed away in 1987 when I was just a stick-thin clueless pre-teen. I remember clearly her late night, red wine induced, give-advice-to-the-world-from-the-dining-room-table moments, often starting with the phrase "I'll tell you what the problem is . . . ". She had answers for everything and everyone, whether they liked it or not. And with her Virginia Southern drawl and fowl sailor's mouth, Nana's sound (and sometimes not quite so sound) advice would be given, loud and proud (though sometimes a bit garbled--thanks to the wine), whether we liked it or not.
I've often wondered what my life would be like if my 4' 11" Badass Nana were still alive, giving advice from the kitchen table. Somehow, in my optimistic dream state and through constant brushes with life's realities, I've come to imagine it a bit like this . . . The Badass Constitution.
Thanks for reading, Superstar.