I love seeing the results of innane Facebook surveys that some of my friends feel compelled to post. I never take the things myself and would certainly never post the fucking results for all the world to see if I had been honest with my answers.
I'm fairly certain that I would qualify as 'mildly to moderately sociopathic' if I were to be judged by classic 1980's era psychoanalytic standards.*1
But by today's whiny-pussy-no-one-is-a-loser-standard I'm merely 'experiencing psychodramatic stress revival due to reliving the traumatizing chapters of a childhood that wasn't one hundred percent perfect'. Or something like that. Some amazingly clever word bullshit that doesn't really mean anything at all but sounds suitably pathetic and unenviable on paper.
So I decided I need to take one of these quizzes and publish the results. For concerned citizens and and amateur psychobabblists everywhere.
Without further ado, I give you The Lame Facebook Quiz quiz. Probably scrawled unto the internet by some sort of happy mongoloid, a perpetually elated microcephalic love machine capable only of optimism and unadulterated joy.
Possibly a teenager.
Q. Be honest, do you like people in general?
A. Nope. Pretty convinced we need a new superbug to thin the ranks. I see people at their worst and wish horrible things would happen to them because I'm a petty and vindictive prick.
Q. Are you easy to get along with?
A. Nope. I tend to be domineering in a passive aggressive way because I don't really care for confrontations but find I don't normally need to force one in order to have my way. I try my best to be humble but don't always manage it and when I fail, I fail big.
Q. Would you rather have ten kids or none?
A. Even at my hungriest I could never finish ten kids, and quite frankly I'm terrible at making jerky and curing leather so much of the kids would be wasted. Since I'm sorta a conservationist by inclination, I'll go with none instead of ten.
I've seen so many lives ruined by child infestations*2 that it just seems to me like a way to give yourself a parasite that drains resources that could otherwise be used to have a good time and buy cool shit.
I don't get it.
Q. Do you start the water before you get in the shower or when you get in?
A. My shower is a flimsy plastic stall barely large enough to contain my Celto-Squatchish frame, therefore I must establish an acceptable temperature before I enter the shower, for once in it, there is nowhere to hide from the water.
Q. Would you rather spend a Friday night at a concert or a massive party?
A. I'd rather spend it at home where it's air conditioned, the beer is insanely cheap, and the only dudes urine I'll be standing in while I piss will be my own, thank you very much.
Q. Do you hate the last girl you had a conversation with?
A. Nope. Actually I really like the girl. She's a sparky little bitch with a bit more attitude than I generally like to see in a hot midget, but she's a platinum level tipper and that cannot be ignored when most of the strippers I work with nowadays have any idea who I am or what my name is.
If I had a fan club she would be at least the Vice President, if not Infante.
Q. What was the last drink you put in your mouth?
A. Labatt Ice currently, but I suspect at any moment that could change to vodka and Venom.
Best tasting energy drink on the market, hands down.
Q. Who is your hero?
A. A guy named Michael Apotomy from Scranton Pennsylvania. Mike came into the club I was working in one night back in 2008 I think it was. He charged 4 hours in a champagne room with two different dancers, had two steak dinners with lobster tails and asparagus, ordered and drank 4 or 5 bottles of Dom and then shit himself while he got a dance and didn't even blink nor acknowledge his boo boo.
We only found out about it when the dancer came screaming out of the room, running all bowlegged because her inner thighs were coated in a wealthy man's poop paint.
Mike was fucking awesome. Sure we had to clean his doody-butter off a couch, but he tipped the hell out of us for our trouble. Both us Floor Guys made more than the strippers who were in the room that night and neither one of us had to get shit on to do it.
Fucking Mike, man...
Q. Who are you going to vote for in the 2016 election?
A. Unlike many other writers, commentators and just plain everyday people I interact with daily, I have no problem telling you who I plan to vote for.
I will be casting my vote for Gary Johnson, Libertarian candidate for President of the United States of M'Murrika. I'm doing so for many reasons which I don't have the sobriety left to tackle at this time. I voted for him last time around as well, but this year he's enjoying unprecedented support due to independent voters being appalled by both The Donald and The Hillary.
I will also freely admit that if I were only given the choice between Hillary and Trump with no other option, I'd vote for Trump. He's the realest candidate I've ever seen, speaking his mind when any polished or sane candidate/incumbent would be vague or noncommittal. Yeah he says a lot of crazy shit, but politicians say all kinds of stuff they really don't mean too.
It's called lying.
Trump knows that his main support comes from people who are exhausted and frustrated with the current system of lobbying and corporate graft. He also scares the living fuck out of his own party, all of the Establishment and is quite possibly crazy.
Should shake things up if nothing else. Hillary is a stagnant, wholly owned subsidiary of several corporate entities. I find her shady, flip floppy and yet more predictable than the Donald.
RANDOM TIDBITS
-In my last six shifts I have made over $2600 in tips and another $500 or so in hourly. This is good. Things had been looking pretty bleak for most of this year so far, but May was a pleasant surprise and I hope June is even better.
I like pummeling my debt like it owes me money.
-The Management Wars took a bloody turn the other day when out of the blue and with no apparent provocation, Sir Glumly d'Overbite IV was fired by the owner's Orbital Tactical Termination Orb (OTTO)*3, spraying random dancers with hot skull shrapnel and generally making a big mess that the Floor Bastards had to clean up.
The remaining Manager, Sir Osfried Vandalkoch IX, pretends to be shocked and appalled, but we all know he's quietly smug about his crushing victory. He now holds absolute power and will no doubt abuse it regularly.
He has become Vader.
-I watched 2 of my fellow Floor Beasts open a door with an assaulty customers face the other day. Then, because he continued to be a combative, violent twat, they hurled him mouthdown onto the sidewalk, spraying teeth all over like someone spiked a box of Tic Tacs. He didn't move for a while but then started choking on his blood so he had to wake up or die.
He went with 'Wake Up'. Then he opted for 'Continue Hostilites' and things got messier for all involved. Skinny fuck just wouldn't give up; big brass balls, tiny little fists, shocking amounts of chin and a noticeably reduced level of food chewing capacity.
Arms like pipe cleaners. SO lucky his two friends were smarter than him.
-I ran into Vodzilla tonight, my ancient foe. We embraced awkwardly because she hoped that I would let her in for free based on our history of violent confrontations and mutual hatred. She happened to be wrong though and I refused to let them pass without paying the full amount, drunk with power.
I whupped her like Mothra and charged her $10 just to use the bathroom while her BF had to wait in the lobby.
Classic. I fucking win, 'Zilla.
Fuck all this, I'm ordering gyros. You can scorn or praise me here:
https://www.facebook.com/Plight-of-the-StripperHerder-216370121724119/
Nubs ya,
-The StripperHerder.
*1 Don't worry, I'm really laid back about it.
*2 Like my parents for example. I was a shitty child with many flaws and very little apparent upside. I feel like by merely avoiding prison that I exceeded their wildest expectations. They're both dead now so I can't ask them. However I'd like to think that if they'd had the opportunity to go on record about their hopes and aspirations for me, they both would've said "He's probably gonna end up killin some poor bastard some day. We tried our best, but that boy has the White Man in him."
known photo of her in a two piece. I would ruin her body shortly after
this pic was taken and our family would suffer anti-squatch sentiments
in rural Pennsyltuckianna.
*3 OTTO, literally Orbital Tactical Termination Orb**. Basically a military grade laser mounted on a reasonably advanced satellite built by one of Murrika's burgeoning McSpacewar companies.
**The owner's name for it. I would've named it something much cooler if I was the money-enraged capitalist owner of said....Flying...Death Eye. KillBeam. Thingy.
