I'd like to nominate Zora Neale Hurston as a hell of a dude for her essay, How It Feels to Be Colored Me. Reading this piece in my critical thinking class drew out some major dudely feelings for me, she recognizes that she may be colored and just doesn't give a fuck what people think about it.
"But I am not tragically colored. There is no great sorrow dammed up in my soul, nor lurking behind my eyes. I do not mind at all."