The+Bad-Ass+Saga

Written by Emma Ricciardi, Mary Cassandra Arocena, Sarah Mun, Aimee Polekoff, Megan Lewinski, and Emma Ricciardi, in that order

Every hundred years on the 29th of February They hold a contest judged by Larry Who rarely has any blunders. Who’s Larry you may wonder? Well… Who gives a cow’s bell. They come from afar Gather under the stars And down they descend. Time and space bend As they pass Atlantis’s gates To begin their date with fate. And now we must mention The Bad-Ass Convention The reason they gather. They’re all bad, or rather, Bad-ass, and they come Together although they are from Different groupings and different acts To chose who will be the leader of the pack. The criteria is hard to beat; Winning here is no small feat. So sit back, relax, kick off your shoes, Be prepared to see many lose. The competition will now begin. Stay tuned to see who will win. --Introduction to the tenth centannual Taken from the Bad-Ass manual. Our story starts with five contenders Each a bad-ass epicenter. Although many more will be competing These are the ones we find intriguing. A pirate, stalwart, steady, strong, As evil as his beard is long. There’s Mr. Spock, Vulcan of logic With phaser gun skills that are quite sick. Mr. Peanut may look like a pushover But his roundhouse kick is like a bulldozer Gus the wannabe ninja extraordinaire Who thinks he can disappear into thin air. And a secret man of whom we’ve never heard Whose last name is comprised of three words. Who will gain the magnificent win? Let’s take a look and listen in.

I’ll send ye to Davy Jones’ locker ye ugly pox-faced swine. O’er the plank and down to the fish- on yer bones they’ll dine. I be Cap’n Murphy O’Malley, me hearties be callin’ me Joe. Look at me lass or think of me booty, you’ll die before a “yo ho!” We be at sea 3 fortnights now, th' Gods be aidin' our quest, Th’ sky be blue, th’ sea be green, th' wind be blowin’ west. Arrr it be Atlantis we seek- swashbucklin' to the BA convention, Though we be be jolly and drinkin' our rum, our lookout be payin' attention. Shiver me timbers! Avast! Begad! Be that thar the Kraken?!? Smartly now, man the cannons, and soon it's head will be lackin'!!

Now in our tale there's a poor guy named Gus forty years old, overweight, and tired of life's fuss of making a living and paying monthly fees. Screw working! Gus is sticking to kung fu and Bruce Lee! Since the wee age of five, lil' Gus dreamed of ninjas sporting his black, harrassing children with his ninjas stars, and saying "Ha I pinned ya!" 25 years pass and Gus can't seem to move on watching "How to Be Ninja" videos til dawn. But What?! What is this that Gus sees?! A promo for the Bad-Ass Convention on TV? This was it, the moment he could put his stuff to the test. To make Bruce Lee proud by proving ninjas are the BA-est. With that, Gus spent the next ten weeks catching flies with his chopsticks and running half-naked up the highest peaks. Soon he found himself flying through the bamboo shoots landing safely in Atlantis, at the BA Convention wearing his rain boots.

“Greetings, my good fellows. I wish to give you earthly hellos. My name is Spock, from the planet Vulcan, And you will never find me sulking. For while I may have emotions, I will rarely, if ever, cause a commotion.” Then everyone pointed, laughed, and stared. “Your ears!” they cried, a little bit scared. “I am not the Devil, if that’s what you think. It’s illogical to believe so, but I saw you wink. If this is a challenge you’re placing on me, Trying to evoke a reaction, you see I’m dispassionate; my face is calm. Whatever you say, I’ll have no qualms.” And so he stood there, looking quite dour. The others knew not what to say for an hour. Then suddenly one spoke; the idea was this: “How are we going to get to Atlantis?” “Easy”, said Spock with a hint of a grin. “I’ll ask the whales to lend us a fin. They’ll comply, knowing the species as I do. I’ve seen another pair’s minds. (This much is true.)” The others stopped, dead in their tracks. “Is that even possible?” one of them asked. “Indeed it is”, the pointy-eared man replied. “There’s a Vulcan trick called the mind meld, on which I rely To communicate with those who our language cannot speak. Including whales, of which I now should go seek.” The rest finally noticed they were next to the sea. After Spock found the whales, they would be home-free. A quarter-day later in Atlantis they stood Looking as if they came from the ‘hood. “To the BA competition we go!” Exclaimed one of the group in the know. “I fail to understand exactly what you mean. My gluteus maximus is not obscene. It is the most illogical thing I’ve ever heard, It even surpasses ‘to eat like a bird’. However, if my analysis is correct, Many people believe ‘BA’ to be my readiness to protect (Despite any and all dangers that may lurk) My captain and best friend James T. Kirk.”

Bad-Ass Convention founding member, Number One! to Atlantis, far away, his amazingness was shunned. Fret not, gentle readers, I know you favor well Mr. Peanut, once Chuck Norris, by far the most swell. He gets lonely, Mr. P, underwater and dead bored. Semi-annually, he therefore reasoned, should a convention be formed. Our champ is undefeated and beats up other chumps. The cane, top hat, and monocle hide a kick to punt their rumps outta the planetary atmosphere on which we so rely, weak and feeble humans we are, we simply can't deny. Well, time has come again, my friends, for those found worthy to make a dashing appearance, even those we know have scurvy. Witless they will be mass-challenged and demolished as before, but not yet- they're still guests- we have hors d' oeuvres and more. A prelude to our match contains shrimp cocktail and champagne, while individuals trade coveted aspirations to glorious fame. Next, a series of fine soups and crusty breads and baked eel, comforts the competitors with victorious thoughts soon to be real. Various entrees are dispersed amongst the valiant fighters and the evening simmers down to smokers searching for lighters. Cherries jubilee tops off the dining phase- but Mr. Peanut isn't content, he's tense and taut, fist raised for the foolish wannabes, has-beens who claim "bad-ass" turn out to all be pushovers, idiots lacking class. With glimmering armor, long thick capes, and swords that make them tough are truly a bunch of bumpkins, whose brass is all fluff. Out of over nine thousand, only four left standing clear seem to hold any threat Mr. P might possibly fear. Despite that jolly, salty grin and cheery disposition, Mr. Peanut casually shifts into a fighting position. As the bang of the gong resonates the halls, Come you scoundrels; fight the beast, if you have the balls!

Now that those other chumps are done It’s time to introduce numero one Whose name is made up of three different words Mr. Billingsley Wilcox Nathanial the third. He’s one of a kind, he’s one of the best, He’s a magical unicorn in a denim vest. With his glossy white mane of sparkles and rainbows From his snout to his hooves he glitters and glows. Mr. BWiN, as I will call him for now, Entered the room with a stately bow. “I am here for the trophy, I’m so good you see There couldn’t possibly be a winner but me.” Everyone immediately fell to the ground Laughing, filling the room with sound. “Yo ho ho, Arg arg, ha ha,” The pirate chortled, dropping his jaw Until his spleen burst from excessive glee. The pirate was felled like a chain sawed tree. Spock was bored by what he found dull. “I’m leaving now. This is illogical. Beam me up, Scotty,” and up he went Leaving behind and interspatial dent. Mr. Peanut raised up his cane Attempting to slay the unicorn bane But Mr. BWiN kicked with his hooves of steel A fatal injury you don’t want to feel. And Mr. Peanut fell to the floor To work for Planters never no more. All opponents were finished, done And Mr. BWiN assumed he had won. He forgot about Gus the ninja wannabe Who had gone on a shurikan throwing spree. Taking out everyone laughing uncontrollably Gus faced the last man confidently. But Mr. BWiN had a trick up his fur A totally irresistible lure The DVD of Ninja Bricklayers 2 First edition copy, brand-spanking new. It was so beautiful, Gus could not resist. He would do anything, he had to have it. He dropped out instantly and Mr. BWiN Even threw in a commemorative pin. Gus left happy and fulfilled Forgetting about the men he had killed. The Atlantians, who watched all this in awe, Could barely believe what they now saw. They gave Mr. BWiN a crown and a throne, Played a king’s fanfare on the trombone, Named him ultimate Bad-Ass king, And, finally, began celebrating. And that is how, although it’s absurd, Mr. Billingsley Wilcox Nathanial the third Won the tenth centannual Bad-Ass Competition And joined their ranks as a worthy addition.