I've Been Tagged

Okay, I’ve been tagged by polyman2. Where I come from, tagging means someone spray-painted their name on you, but in the blogosphere it means I get to answer some nifty questions about myself. At first I wasn’t going to do it – I’ve never been a team player – but since I had whiskey for breakfast, I think I can manage. I probably won’t remember any of this shit later, so it really doesn’t matter anyway.

Accent: You know, it depends, really. Sometimes I’ll be like, “Fuck a mutated monkey cunt, you dick!” Other times I’ll say, “Fuck a mutated monkey cunt, you dick!” I suppose it really depends on my mood.

Booze of choice: I have quite an affinity for scotch – particularly Glenfiddich; however, my usual drink is good ‘ol American whiskey. I would wager I drink over a gallon of Evan Williams in two weekends. I’ll also drink vodka, gin, tequilia, rum, or even appletini-infused blood from a freshly murdered Girls Gone Wild video slut. When you have an addiction, you do what it takes to satiate the monkey on your back. Don’t fucking judge me. By the way, I really like absinthe, but that’s another story all together.

Chore I hate: Living.

Dog or cat: Depends on if you plan on making chow-mein or tamales.

Essential electronics: My electronically controlled cyber kidney/liver. Without it, I wouldn’t be able to piss or live or something – I don’t know.

Favorite cologne: The one on the Rhine River, north of Bonn. Duh.

Gold or silver: I takes what I can gets.

Hometown: The third circle of Dante’s hell.

Insomnia?: Only when I can’t sleep, but that could be caused by all the random ninja attacks.

Job Title: Commander-in-Chief and sole member of the misanthropic army. I also write articles for and edit ****** * ****** Magazine with a few advertising/graphic design jobs on the side. When I really need some money – usually for buying alcohol – I dispose of the corpses of elderly folks that died in nursing homes. Another completely unrelated job I have is providing chili meat to inner-city schools … completely unrelated.

Kids: Haha! Like a virgin could ever have a kid! Um, forget I said anything.

Living arrangement: Between jail time and rehab, I usually live behind a liquor store.

Most admired trait(s): None that I can think of.

Number of sexual partners: Again, none that I can think of.

Overnight hospital stays: None. I fix my own problems. Like, one time, I broke my thumb, so I watched a bunch of old martial arts movies and learned how to pop the bone back into place. I guess I did it wrong, though, because now, on my right hand, I have two thumbs.

Phobia: My greatest fear is that, one day, all the crappy songs I hear at work – like Dirty Little Secret by All-American Assholes, or whatever they’re called – will grow on me until I actually like them … Fuck, that’ll never happen: I have good taste.

Quote(s): “The best defense against usurpatory government is an assertive citizenry.”
– William F. Buckley Jr.

“What’s the story with your face, son?”
– Jimmy James (if you get this reference, you get five cool points)

Religion: Does alcoholism count as a religion if you worship an empty bottle of Evan Williams wiskey with a picture of Jim Varney on top of it?

Siblings: One younger brother. But he looks older than me, and people actually like him.

Time I wake up: Depends on what day it is and how much alcohol I drank the night before.

Unusual talent/skill: I totally know all my ABCs, and I can almost count to 100.

Vegetable I refuse to eat: Aborted fetuses.

Worst habit: Being prefect in every way and never making misstakes.

X-Rays: Once, at the dentist’s when I got x-rays, they forgot to put the lead bib on me, so I grew a third head and jumped out of the window.

Yummy foods I make: The only thing I can make is a shot of whiskey. And for the record, I would never call anything “yummy.”

Zodiac sign: