At the farthest reaches of modernity, we still somehow pine for an aesthetic that borders on sociopathy. The badass has long brought this aesthetic principle forward, but barely manages to deliver it to us here in the 21st century. The badass, though common in the vernacular, hyperbolically applied wherever, has sadly gone the way of the fucking chucking spear. Clearly a distinction is necessary to distinguish real badassery from its overuse in language today if there is any hope of salvaging this treasured relic of our cultural past. Badassery cannot be separated from its roots in death, the overriding theme (aesthetically and politically) of the 20th century. Badass simply cannot describe goofball sneakers, a kid in a Michael Jackson video, or scroungy hobo jammers living in an abandoned water tank. Because badassery, like Annie Oakley's nightly routine, requires a delicate precision - predicated on getting the danger on.