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Badass motherfuckers


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Thought we could use a thread about badasses. Feel free to post more.

Lieutenant Colonel John Malcolm Thorpe Fleming "Jack" Churchill, DSO & Bar, MC & Bar (16 September 1906 – 8 March 1996), nicknamed "Fighting Jack Churchill" and "Mad Jack", was a British soldier who fought throughout World War II armed with a longbow, arrows and a claymore. He once said "any officer who goes into action without his sword is improperly dressed."


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Tareg Gazel is a half-Irish, half-Libyan teenager with absolutely no military training who hunts snipers with a hunting rifle on the war-torn streets of his hometown.


Back before the Libyan revolution broke out earlier this year and turned his beloved homeland into a raging Fallout-style desert warzone, Tareg Gazel was just a regular 19-year-old kid who enjoying hanging out, watching skateboarding videos, and not having people shoot at him with high-caliber weaponry non-stop every single day. Describing his pre-war occupation as "just chilling'", Gazel's life changed pretty dramatically back in February, when the citizens of his native land suddenly decided they were sick of having their civil liberties ass-humped up and down the Mediterranean by the autocratic dictator Muammar Gaddafi. When the Arab Spring revolts successfully topped tyrannical regimes in Tunisia and Egypt with bloodless populist revolutions, the good people of Libya finally saw a golden chance to finally free themselves from the yoke of oppression – and young Tareg Gazel and his family were some of the first people out there waving flags in the streets, calling for a peaceful transition of power, and demanding the resignation of Gaddafi.


But this wasn't Egypt or Tunisia, and Libyan presidente-por-vida Muammar Gaddafi didn't become the world's second-longest-running world (besides Castro, assuming the Cubans aren't Weekend at Bernie's-ing that guy around the island) by not knowing how to put down a revolution or two. So while the people may have wanted a peaceful change in power brought about through popular demand, and some other North African countries were willing to hand over the keys to Parliament without so much as asking the rebel leader to armwrestle for it, Gaddafi was more of a "you'll pry the Amazonian Guardswomen from my cold dead hands" kind of motherfucker. This bastard was a hardcore tyrant, and when shit started getting unruly in his fiefdom he didn't really have a problem preserving his 40+ year rule by sending his government-sanctioned goon squad to kick the shit out of dissidents, or ordering Libyan Air Force attack jets to strafe the peaceful demonstrations with a few racks of high-explosive clusterfuck bombs.


It was in the midst of this spontaneous Civil-War-Out-of-Nowhere that shit started getting real for Tareg Gazel pretty fucking quickly. This kid came from a family that didn't want to just bend over and take it anymore, and, as a result of their disobedience to the ruling regime, they drew the attention of Gaddafi's personal douchebag armada pretty early on in the conflict. For starters, Tareg's beloved uncle was capped by a sniper while leaving his morning prayers at the Mosque, bleeding to death in the middle of the street because he had spoken out in favor of the revolution. After that, Gaddafi's forces imprisoned most of his family as dissidents just for good measure, and Tareg knew all too well that all his loved ones could probably look forward to were a couple weeks of torture followed by summary execution without trial.


He wasn't going to let that happen. He knew the time for peaceful revolution had ended. Now it was time for vengeance. Steven Segal style.


Without hesitation, the 19 year-old kid in a backwards baseball cap and a "Just Do It" t-shirt grabbed his hunting rifle, took to the streets with grim determination, and decided he was going to declare a one-man war of vengeance against every motherfucking sniper in Gaddafi's army – presumably because if he caused all of those fools to cough up their nuts with a side order of 7.62mm ammunition he'd eventually hit the guy who'd offed his uncle. That personal vendetta may never be definitively/satisfactorily concluded, but what we do know for sure is that after six months of hardcore back-alley sniper-to-sniper street warfare, this gunslinging teenager now commands a team of eight counter-sniper specialist operatives in an ongoing battle taking place on the very streets where he grew up. So we can only imagine that he's pretty good at this shit.


But I should point out that Tareg Gazel isn't just some crazy whack-ass beltway sniper lunatic sitting in a clock tower picking off douchebags he thinks might be associated with Gaddafi-ism. This dude is a dedicated hardass who has trained himself and dedicated himself specifically in counter-sniper activities – a method of service that I probably don't have to tell you is easily one of the most dangerous missions any sniper, professional or otherwise, can undertake. Basically his team's job is to sit around a secret base cleaning their weapons, and then when some reports come through on his radio that there's a completely concealed mercenary sniper headshotting civilians or pinning down rebel militia units, Tareg Gazel and his buddies haul ass to the middle of the goddamned sniper-infested battlefield and willingly putting themselves in the killzone so that they can try to cap the hidden assassin before he can return the favor.

This, of course, is complete insanity.


Lying completely motionless for as long as eight hours at a time while waiting for a well-armed, well-trained Libyan Army soldier with a high-powered scoped sniper rifle to waltz into your crosshairs isn't any picnic, especially when you're carrying a fucking hand-me-down bolt-action rifle (I assume he has upgraded his gear during the course of the war, but how technologically advanced could his initial weapon have been?), but Tareg Gazel has made it work somehow. By his own admission, "We're not SEALs or anything," but despite having zero professional training and going up against seasoned veteran soldiers, Gazel's motley gang has fought, survived, and won, sometimes claiming as many as 4 enemy snipers killed in a single night of operations (which, obviously, is a lot of kills for a counter-sniper).


Sure, patience, accuracy, and boom headshots are the primary prerequisites for sniper success, but winning a life-or-death game of wits and nerves also requires a little bit of cleverness and ingenuity as well. And Gazel's crew has it. Like, for instance, one of this guy's strategies is to tie a flashlight to a dog and send the pooch running around the streets of the city barking its ass off. Crouching motionless from their sniper perch, Gazel and his men carefully look for a laser sight dot to appear on the dog, then try extrapolate the sniper's position based on the angle of the dot so they can locate their target. When that becomes boring/routine/not insane enough, Gazel and his team sometimes just go outside run across the fucking street themselves, acting as human bait to DRAW THE FIRE OF AN ELITE SNIPER so that another team member can pop the bad guy when he shows himself.


Balls of steel, dude.


But hey, it works somehow. This guy is so hardcore that not only has he survived to tell the tale and racked up an impressive kill count, but he's also used his tactics to corner the enemy sniper and capture him alive rather than killing them – putting himself in such an advantageous position that his hard-as-nails enemies don't even want to try to fight back. He keeps these guys in a homemade bunker he's created, and even though Gazel is basically just some dude with a gun and not anything remotely resembling a professional soldier, he takes care to ensure that all of his prisoners are treated according to the POW regulations laid out by the Geneva Convention. Not only is that awesome in a "hey dude you're totally chill" way, but it's especially tolerant considering that Tareg Gazel knows damn well he could hope for no such courtesy if he ever found himself imprisoned by pro-Gaddafi forces.

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  • 1 month later...


This is why Battlefield is awesome!


In a videogame, it makes you awesome.

In real life, it makes you a badass motherfucker!


One summer afternoon in 1917, Royal Flying Corps trainee Graham Donald prepared to try a new maneuver with his Sopwith Camel. He ascended into a vertical loop, intending to flip the plane at the top and fly off in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, when the airplane was fully inverted at 6,000 feet, his safety belt gave way and “suddenly I dived clean through it and fell out of the cockpit.”

“The first 2,000 feet passed very quickly, and terra firma looked damnably ‘firma,’” he recalled later. But as he fell, “I began to hear my faithful little Camel somewhere nearby.” He dropped onto the diving plane and managed to grip its top wing, “and that saved me from slithering straight through the propeller, which was glistening beautifully in the evening sunshine.”

As the ground neared at 140 mph, he reached into the cockpit and pulled back on the control stick. Unfortunately, this sent the plane into an inverted spin. With 2,500 feet left, Donald managed to put his right foot on the stick and push it forward, and he found himself clinging to a plane that was flying upside down. He reached the controls, righted the plane, and climbed into the cockpit with about 800 feet to spare. To prevent further strain on the wings, he cut the engine and glided back to the airfield.

“I made an unusually good landing, but there was no one there to applaud — every man-jack of the squadron had mysteriously disappeared. After a minute or so, heads began to appear all over the place — popping up like bunny rabbits from every hole. Apparently, when I had pressed my foot on the control stick, I’d also pressed both triggers and the entire airfield had been sprinkled with bullets. Very wisely, the ground crew dived as one man for the nearest ditch.”

(From Joshua Levine’s 2008 book On a Wing and a Prayer.)

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  • 3 weeks later...



No explanation needed really.

I watched a documentary on a family of these people. They are primarily Llama farmers who live in the arid desert regions of Mongolia. When they are young they go out and search for an eagle's nest and grab a baby eagle and then raise it and teach it to hunt for them. Plus every year they have a competition of who's eagle is the best, and who is the best trainer. It was a really good documentary, showing the life of these farmers.


A little side note and one that is related to the title of the documentary (which I have forgotten the name of) is that one of the Llama's gives birth, but will NOT let it's offspring suckle, so they have to hand feed this baby llama, but it still isnt enough so they call for this "medicine man" to come out. And basically the medicine man plays this type of stringed instrument while a lady sings this prayer, and as soon as they start the adult Llama has a very noticable reaction, and then starts to cry, tears and all. Then it lets its baby start to suckle and everything ends happy. There is something amazing going on there, and it has to seen to be believed. I tried to find something on youtube showing it, but nada. Either way, these people are definately some badass motherfuckers, where they live and what they do to survive, is something I doubt many of us would be able to do for more than a few days.

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  • 1 month later...

Fridtjof Nansen





If you can look at this picture and tell me that this isn't one of the sweetest photos of a dude with a 'stache that you've ever seen, then you obviously need to learn a little something about facial hair and being awesome. This picture alone makes the guy badass, even if you didn't know the story behind it. You will be pleased to learn, no doubt, that the man behind this vicious strip of solidified testosterone is sufficiently badass to pull off a soup strainer that epically righteous. It can be no other way.

Fridtjof Nansen was a tough-as-nails Norwegian psychopath with an impossible-to-spell first name and an unstoppable desire to constantly freeze his balls off and risk his life in the name of science and kickassery. Born in 1861 in a town near Oslo, as a teenager this super-brilliant, ultra-hardcore crazy person constantly went outside into the frostbite-inducing snow-covered wilderness Bear Grylls-style to test himself against the most volatile bullshit Mother Nature could furiously dump on him. Spending days and weeks at a time alone in the wild with just his faithful dog, a sharp knife, and his badass 'stache to keep him company, this guy quickly forged himself into a high-endurance asskicker. This dude was so ridiculously tough that that he could get out and cross-country ski fifty miles a day, every day, for pretty much as many days as he wanted. For those of us who have no idea what skiing two marathons back-to-back actually means, the 50km cross-country ski race (30 miles for those of you who continue to resist the global tyranny of the metric system) is the longest ski race the Olympics has ever offered. In the 1948 games, 20 world-class athletes busted ass and finished the race in times ranging from 4 to 5 hours, with seven more guys dropping out and not even being able to crawl their half-dead asses over the finish line. They haven't offered the race since, presumably because that bullshit constitutes something akin to "cruel and unusual punishment." For this guy it was half a day's ski in the woods.




In 1882, the 21 year-old Nansen went on a naval expedition to Greenland and instantly fell in love with the harsh, unyielding hellhole he discovered there. Greenland, contrary to what it's name might imply, is actually a freezing-ass wasteland of ice and pain and misery, but that's apparently the sort of thing that appeals to guys who enjoy spending their time fist-fighting wild animals in the uncharted mountainous regions of Norway. Nansen, who loved learning about zoology, ecology, and oceanography, used his time on the ship wisely – while lesser men were below decks doing wussy crap like huddling for warmth or losing their fingers to frostbite, Nansen was getting up-close-and-personal with polar bears, making observations and writing a damn book about how balls-out he was.

Returning to Norway so pumped up he wanted to barf, Nansen got his Ph.D. in zoology from the University of Oslo. When he wasn't working on a dissertation exploring the central nervous system of lower invertebrates, developing the groundwork for the field of science that would become neuron theory, or working at a research station with Armauer Hansen (the man who discovered the leprosy bacteria), Nansen took a study break to ski 300 miles over a usually-impenetrable mountain range so that he could participate in a ski jumping competition that was taking place on the other side of the country. I wasn't able to find the results of the competition, but knowing what we know about this guy it's probably safe to assume that he flew off the ramp, did a double backflip and landed on top of a volcano in Iceland.




One day Nansen got bored of being a super-genius ski-jumping wilderness expert, so he got a couple friends together and decided to be the first person to cross Greenland on skis. To this point, nobody had ever attempted an exploration of the interior of Greenland, and the closest anybody had come to reaching the North Pole was writing a letter to Santa Claus, but Nansen didn't give a crap about any of that shit. Nothing would stand in the way of him kicking one of Saint Nick's reindeer in the antlers. He landed a ship on the East coast of Greenland, unpacked his skis, and got ready to freeze his junk off. Figuring that retreat or surrender would be an indelible sign of weakness, Nansen took the head-searingly insane step of burning his boats after he landed, thereby removing the one possible avenue of escape from this uncharted wasteland nobody had ever successfully ventured across without dying. Victory or death, as they say. Nansen and five other men then spent the next two months cross-country skiing across the continent, battling through dangerous ice, exhaustion, elevations over 9,000 feet, and temperatures as low as fifty below. Incredibly, they made their way all the way from east to west, landing in the warmer sunny climes of Siberia before heading home to a victory parade, an artillery salute, and the status of a national hero. Fridtjof turned his experience into two best-selling books, both of which he also illustrated, because of course this guy was strong, smart, and also artistic. And women loved him, obviously.

For his next trick, Fridtjof Nansen decided he was going to become the first person to reach the North Pole. He developed a pretty ingenious tactic for doing so – he built the famous, ultra-hard wooden ship Fram, lodged it into the ice pack off the coast of Siberia in 1893, and let it drift in the ice while the tides of ocean carried him across the pole. This was a tactic that would be used by great explorers from Scott to Shackleton to traverse both Arctic and Antarctic climes, and this guy pioneered that shit.

Nansen and his crew drifted for 18 months, somehow surviving in the freezing-ass cold temperatures, but unfortunately the tides of the Arctic Sea decided not to cooperate with Nansen's plan, no matter how good it was or how intensely he tried to stare it down. Realizing that he was drifting too far from the pole and wouldn't cross it, Nansen obviously did the badass thing – he and one other guy jumped out of the drifting boat, jumped on a dog sled, and rushed 140 miles across open ice to get there.

Nansen didn't reach the pole – he was forced to turn back just a couple hundred miles away – but he had achieved the highest latitude ever reached at this point in history, which was definitely something to be proud of. Not convinced that he could find his still-drifting ship as it made its way through the polar ice, Nansen and his homedog instead headed south across Greenland. They spent a winter living in the inhospitable climate of the extreme North, building a hut out of stone and eating walrus blubber and polar bears he personally clubbed to death with his boner, and finally reached Norway by kayak the next summer. In addition to being awesome and also kicking ass, the six volumes of research material he published on his trip got him a post as a Professor of Oceanography at the University of Oslo and plenty of prestige in the legitimate scientific community. His ship, Fram, would go on to carry Roald Amundsen to the South Pole. To this day, it's still the wooden ship that has achieved the furthest North and furthest South latitudes, and this dude built it back in 1890 using ingenious mathematics-oriented ship-building techniques he devised himself.




When World War I broke out in 1914, Nansen had to halt his balls-out research/almost dying, which sucked. He was so pissed about it that he went out and won the Nobel Peace Prize so that he could get back to doing dangerous things. Seriously. He was Norway's representative in the League of Nations, the High Commissioner for Refugees, and he closely worked with governments and the Red Cross to provide humanitarian aid to people affected by the war. He negotiated a relaxation of the Allied blockade of Europe, allowing much-needed food to get through to starving people, and negotiated the repatriation and ethical treatment of displaced persons and refugees, developing techniques still used by the UN today. His most badass accomplishment to this end was the development of the "Nansen Passport", a document that allowed refugees to travel to countries that could help them. My guess is that he just put his picture on there and people were so awe-struck by the glorious stache that they did whatever he wanted.


After the war, Nansen continued being awesome to the world. He negotiated post-war prisoner-of-war exchanges and releases, and helped Turks, Greeks, and Armenians escape persecution from various sources after a bunch of terrible shit went on in their respective territories. When the Russian people were starving to death after a decade of war and revolution, Nansen rallied international support and got food and medical supplies for them. The Soviets distrusted the Western powers, and refused to deal with anyone except Nansen. He's credited with saving the lives of something like ten million people with his food policy in Russia. Not bad for a guy who was head-butting polar bears and building shelters in the wilderness of Greenland a few years earlier.

The adventurer, explorer, scientist, and humanitarian badass Fridtjof Nansen died in 1930 – just a couple years before he would have found a way to single-handedly end World War II with his facial hair.

Edited by axel_napalm
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  • 2 weeks later...

Aw shucks. You're sweet Star.


I'm also sitting around the house like a big whiny baby and getting my wife to clean me at night because I have a boo boo, while I constantly munch a steady stream of narcotics to keep from crying.


The other guys in this thread would only notice their broken arm when they had a more difficult time hoisting their enormous penises over their shoulder.

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Time for a little love for the ladies.


Marie Colvin




She was primarily a Middle East correspondent. She lost that eye in Sri Lanka to shrapnel while under fire by RPG's. Last weekend, she illegally crossed into Syria on a motorcycle. It drew attention, but she made it to a shelter and wrote this:




While fleeing yesterday, she got hit with a rocket.


Brave by any standards, and fitting all the criteria of a badass motherfucker.

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