“Congratulations, you have won Jeopardy! Did I mention that when I was in my 40s, I married a 27 year old woman?”
As fine purveyors of all things American, sometimes it is necessary for America Fun Fact of the Day writers to take a step back and think about what America means to them. Yes, it is a country, a way of life, and the creator of all things awesome. This we know. We know that we are Americans, either by blood or by love, and our fervor for this hunk of a continent knows no equal.
But every once and a while, a non-American tries to infiltrate our ranks. Yes, Ivan Drago might stroll in, Carl Weathers in tow, and start to beat him mercilessly in front of us while saying, “If you do not hire me….he dies.” And as he tells us about the time where robbers broke into his house, tied up his wife, and then left without taking anything just because they saw a picture of him in the house and realized, “Holy shit, Ivan Drago’s going to kill us when he finds out,” we might fool ourselves into thinking, “Yes, maybe he is American.” But then, we remember Rocky beating the shit out of him to win the Cold War, and the fact that the name “Dolph” is a pretty shitty name. And since you are able to read “Dolph Lundgren has a shitty name, fuck you Dolph Lundgren” without his hand punching through your computer and breaking your nose, that means that he is clearly not American enough. And we were right to not hire him for that reason, and we totally sent Mrs. Weathers a really nice bouquet of flowers for the funeral.
Since other people can mask their accents, or not be named “Dolph,” we sometimes have to take the psychological route to determine who among us are truly American. It is for that reason that you, dear readers, will be able to take our handy “Are You American” quiz. It’s full of questions meant to separate the Patriots from the Portuguese, the Americans from the Albanians, and the Freedoms from the….French.
All french people are mimes. True story.
So please take our test below. For each multiple choice question, A is worth 0 points, B is worth 1 point, C is worth 3 points, and D is worth 5 points. So add up your score, and check our scoring guide at the bottom of the page. Good luck trying to pass this test, comrade.
Question 1: What best describes your eating habits?
A. I am a vegan. I don’t eat anything that has a soul, and if you eat cheese you might as well be bathing in the milk of dead cow babies. Because dairy products are for cow babies, not people. Oh dear, I’m not going to do well on this quiz am I?
B. I maintain a very strict diet. A healthy body is a healthy mind. For lunch today, I had a salad, vitamin supplements, and some yogurt. For dinner tonight, I think I’ll have a nice cut of unseasoned chicken breast, and maybe a grilled portabella mushroom if I really feel like splurging! My friends always eat really unhealthy, and I tell them that they should really watch their diet, and they always respond, “You should check your red cheeks” and start to sort of joking slap my face a few times. They have a funny sense of humor, I’ll give them that.
C. I try to eat healthy most of the time, but every now and then I’ll allow myself to have something that’s bad for me. I know I want to stay healthy , but sometimes I just crave a number 6 combo from Wendy’s, what can I say?
D. Man, I am halfway through eating a five pound sausage right the fuck now. And I ate like an hour ago. My fingers are so greasy that my keyboard is slicker than melted butter poured on an ice rink.
Question 2: What best describes your drinking habits?
A. Alcohol is a poison. It ruins livers and ruins lives. I actually am a copywriter coming up with PSA slogans like that. Did you like it? Because the only difference between lives and livers is the letter R. As in it’s wRong to drink alcohol. That was a bit more of a stretch. Anyway, I’ve never touched alcohol in my life, because it is evil. I’ll stick to chamomile tea thank you very much. I get buzzed on my sense of superiority, thank you very much. Gosh darn it, why am I even taking this quiz?
B. I’ve had a few beers, here and there, but I don’t really like the taste of it. I’d rather drink something wholesome, like juice. One time, my friends played a “prank” on me where they served me fruit punch. But it wasn’t just fruit punch. They…they put something else in it, if you know what I mean. Yeah. They roofied the shit out of me, and then poured a funnel down my throat and force fed me Bacardi 151 like they were priming a duck for goddamned foie gras. I asked them why they didn’t just spike the punch with liquor if they wanted to get me drunk and laugh at me, and they just told me to stop being such a pussy, and then made me chug a bottle of Smirnoff Ice because of some game that I’m not aware of.
C. I drink socially, I’d say. If I go out to the bars, I’ll drink, but I usually keep it in control. More often than not, I’m okay with being the designated driver. On holidays and special occasions, I’ve been known to “let loose” a bit and get pretty wasted, but I usually regret it in the morning. Hangovers are no fun.
D. Let me tell you the story of my fourteenth birthday. My old man, he sits me down on his knee, and he says, “Son. Do you have a dick?” I go, “Of course pops, the hell kind of question is that?” He glares at me for a few seconds, then takes out his flask and takes a swig of his special blend of hard liquors that he called, “Forget Juice.” He pauses and says, “Son, have you ever broken into my liquor cabinet and gotten loused up?” I say, “No, pa, can’t say I have.” Pop didn’t like that answer, he spits on the ground disgustedly and goes, “Boy, when I was your age I had already relapsed from my stint in AA. The hell kind of son did I raise? Have you ever had alcohol?” I say, “Well, I had communion wine every now and then.” Pop let out this sort of yelp, both enraged and saddened, sort of like a Boxer when he signs his divorce papers. “Son, drink this. Drink this for your pop.” He hands me his Forget Juice, and boy, I tell ya, it sure tasted sweet. So, to answer your question a bit more succinctly, yes I drink all the time. I sort of drink the same way you run over hot coals- if you keep running, your feet don’t get burned. And if you keep drinking, you don’t get hangovers. You get me?
Question 3: Do you watch football?
A. Oh sure, I watch football. Just like the Romans watched gladiators fight against lions. In case you couldn’t tell, I was being sarcastic, all my friends say I have a sharper wit than anyone they know. Why would I want to watch giant men hurl themselves at each other, breaking bones, in some macho pointless exercise to see which team of oversized person can get a ball into a rectangle written in grass more than the other team of oversized people? I’d rather sit back and watch some CSPAN thank you very much. Or maybe CSPAN-2, they’re more “edgy” I think. In fact, I think that the best of the cable news shows is…wait, where are you going? Question guy? Hello?
B. To be honest, I’m not that big of a football fan. I’ll watch it, gun to my head, and I’m okay if it’s on in the background at a bar, though I’d prefer the audio isn’t on. I’m just not into sports, in general. I think they’re kind of dumb. I mean, I have friends who like it, but it’s really not my thing. The other day, I went to my friends (the ones who force fed me that alcohol that one time) and they were talking about football, and I wanted to fit in, so I said, “Oh, did the home team score some runs?” My friends just started laughing at me, and one of them lifted me up by my underwear (it’s called a “wedgie”) and just started shaking me. I was crying a lot, and that just made it worse. Those guys are jerks.
C. I wouldn’t say I’m the biggest football fan, but I’ll watch it if it’s on, I suppose. And if a friend is having a football watching party, I’ll go. And I’ll occasionally go to games, if I know someone who has tickets. I won’t watch it alone, but I’ll watch it with friends, I like the social aspect of it.
D. FOOOOTBAAALLLLLLLLLL! FOOOTBALLLLLLLLLL. If I miss a football game, my first instinct is to punch my damn aunt in the face for scheduling Uncle Hank’s funeral on a fucking Sunday. I’m seriously considering naming my kids after football legends. Football is the embodiment of America- overweight people shortening their life expectancy by trying their best to kill other overweight people shortening their life expectancy, all for the promise of a shit-load of money that they’re going to burn through 3 years after their retirement. Yes! High five! WOOOOO! WOOOOO!
Question 4: Titties
A. Um, that’s not a question Mr. “Oh look at me I’m so macho and American.” That’s just disgusting. That term? That’s offensive to me. They are called breasts not…I’m not even going to repeat that word because it’s against everything I stand for. What do I stand for? I’m glad you asked. What, you didn’t ask? Oh, well I’ll tell you anyway. I stand for respect for everyone. So I’m not going to drop the “dick” word around willy nilly, and I sure as sally am not going to say that repugnant word. I hope you are ashamed of yourself.
B. Hey, so easy there with the language, okay? We’re not a bunch of sailors, we’re adults here, thank you very much. When my friends, when they say that word, I tell them, hey. Stop it. That’s not cool, that’s just childish. Usually that’s when they say shit like, “Man, you suck, why do you keep hanging around with us?” and start throwing forks at my head. Goddamn those guys.
C. Hey, I can appreciate breasts, they’re a very beautiful, natural part of the human body. Titties, I guess, if you will. I mean I don’t use that term too often myself, it’s a little crude, but yeah, nothing wrong with breasts.
D. I KNOW, RIGHT!?
Question 5: What is a “Mixer”
A. What, do you want the definition? I may have forgotten to mention this, but my friends say I’m like an encyclopedia of knowledge. Well, the etymology of the word “mix” dates all the way back to the 1500’s, though the term “mixer” has of course come to take a variety of definitions since that time. Words are just so much fun, right? Way more fun than going out on the weekend, I’d rather curl up by a fireplace with a nice book, and just think about how everyone out there getting “smashed” are just wasting their life and OW! Hey, did you just hit me? What the heck!?
B. I actually just bought a brand new Cuisinart mixer, it was only $59 dollars! I’m glad I waited in line for that sale. I just tested it out the other day, making this really delectable watercress mousse. It’s so low in calories, it’s practically sinful. I actually brought it over to my friends the other day. I said, “Hey, look what I just used my new mixer to make. You have to try these, if you twist my arm I might tell you what my secret ingredient is. Well, other than white truffle oil, ha ha! You always need a truffle oil, unless you want to totally drown out the taste of the watercress!” My friends then said, “Yeah, we got your watercress right here,” and they started to waterboard the shit out of me. Just, for hours upon hours. It was truly awful. Every time, I thought I was drowning, and I could do nothing to stop them.
C. You mean like a party? Sure, I’ll occasionally throw a mixer, invite some people over, put on some nice light jazz, make a few cocktails. It’s a pretty fun way to spend the evening if you ask me.
D. You mean that shit that I don’t put in my bourbon? Are you calling me a pussy? Seriously, are you? I haven’t used mixers for my liquor since I was a baby, and that mixer was called “the non-alcoholic part of my mother’s breast milk.”
Question 6: What is your “Guilty Pleasure” food?
A. Oh, now you’re finally speaking my language. So, okay, don’t call me a pig or anything, even though pigs are actually one of the most intelligent mammals and the conditions that we put them through just so we can “mass produce” murder meat is…sorry, one second, let me calm myself down…just embrace the tears. *cough* Okay. So, I start off with a bed of alfalfa, and I sprinkle…were you going to guess paprika? No? Well, I sprinkle some paprika, just a little, don’t want too much flavor! And then, I add… shitake mushrooms. I know! I wrap that in…are you ready for it? Ice Berg Lettuce! I haven’t had that in a few months, but my mouth is just watering thinking of that. Wait, what are you doing? Is that a piece of ham? You monst…AGH! STOP IT! HELP! SOMEONE! HE’S SMEARING HAM ALL OVER MY FACE! AGHHHHHH!
B. Sometimes, I go a little overboard, and will work at the stove for a few hours making myself a nice, organic tomato bisque. With sweet peppers and mozzarella! I know, I know, it sounds crazy, but that’s just because I sometimes like to live on the wild side, haha. It’s really delicious, and I pour a fairly healthy amount of sea salt in it because, hey, you only live once, but at least sea salt has less sodium! Every time I make it, I save a pot for my friends when they come over, and every time they pick up the vat and dump it over my head like I’m fucking Sissy Spacek in Carrie.
C. Well, you know, sometimes if I need a pick up, I’ll maybe go to Burger King and get a Whopper, or if things are really looking down, I’ll drink a beer with a big tub of ice cream. I know it’s a cliché, but clichés exist for a reason, right?
D. Hmm…”Guilty Pleasure” food. Okay, so here’s what you do. You go to KFC and you get a double down, and if they give you shit like, “We don’t sell those anymore, it was a part time promotion” you tell them to go fuck themselves, get two deboned chicken thighs (ORIGINAL FUCKING RECIPE, none of this grilled shit), go home and get some bacon and cheese whiz in the middle, and pack them together. Now, go down to a butcher, and ask him for the biggest piece of steak he can legally sell. So you take that steak, grill it until it’s at that fuzzy line between “rare” and “raw”, and cut a hole in the middle. Eat that cut out part of the steak because, damn, that’s a good steak, and place the double down inside that hole. Now, dunk the whole thing in range dressing, and cover that in friend onions. Funions work fine if you got them. Now, tie your hands behind your back, and place it on the edge of the table, with one end slightly off the table . Now, start eating that shit like a goddamn moon pie. When you get to the surprise in the middle, you’ll know you’re halfway home. Delicious.
Question 7: How do you feel about America?
A. America? More like Slavemerica. Remember, I’m a copywriter? Remember? Did you know that the American government is responsible for more third world deaths each year than hunger, AIDS, and elephant attacks combined? Because “Uncle Sam” is just a big bully. That’s what I think about America. Why can’t we all just be civilized, cultured people, like the French? What? No, I said “Like the French.” Why? Isn’t it obvious? The French are not beer swilling, hog slaughtering rednecks like here in America, they have a certain refined elegance and…oh, what? Yes, I am thirsty actually. Oh thank you, a water bottle. And it’s Voss. That’s my favorite water. It smells a little funny though. What’s that? Oh, that’s the extra electrolytes you put in it? Organic electrolytes, right? Oh, good. It…it tastes…funny. Let me try again. Yeah, what is that…that taste? Oh…Oh my God. You…you bastards. THIS IS BACON GREASE AND EVERCLEAR! OH MY GOD! WHY!? WHY? WHYYYYYYYYY? YOU MONSTERS!!!!! WHY DID I EVER AGREE TO TAKE THIS FASCIST TEST!?!?!?!?
B. Listen, I might live here, but I do not support what we do here. We are just a giant factory of government minions working to make the rich richer and the poor have to foot the bill. One time, one of my friends was wearing an American flag shirt, and I said, “Oh, so you’re going to proudly wear your blind loyalty to a corrupt entity for everyone to see?” And he just sort of smiled, and said, “Yeah, yeah I think I am.” We were watching a movie, actually, so we watched the rest of the movie, and I joined the rest of the gang at a bar. Not my normal scene, but I just like to be social sometimes. A social butterfly, ha ha! So, my friend in the American Flag shirt, he says that everyone should go easy on me tonight, since we’ve been kind of hard on me lately. I thought that was really thoughtful of him. I didn’t really see him for the rest of the night, and then the next morning he called me and said that he had kidnapped my parents! They’re so scared, and he just sent me a toe in a box! Please, if you know where they are, just call the police and let them know. I really miss them.
C. Hey, America isn’t perfect, far from it. But, it’s home. And that has to count for something, right?
D. AMERICA! YEAHHHHHHHHH! AMERRRRIIIICCAAAAAA! FUCK YES AMERICA. WOOOOOOOO!
Alright! Well, put down your pens and pencils, and calculate your score. Here is what your score means about you.
0: You…no, this cannot be. You’re real? If you exist, you either have to be a French Vegan PSA Copywriter with an anti-America blog, or you are Marty McFly in the alternate ending of Back to the Future where, when he starts to fade, he just has sex with his mother and suddenly he’s back in the realm of existence. Do you understand? YOU SHOULD NOT EXIST! YOU ARE A PARADOX! NO! NO!
1-16: You’re not really American. I don’t know what you are. You could be French (I hope not) or you could be some kind of Spanish. Either way, Freedom for you is just a lyric in that one country song you heard on accident in a dentist’s office. Your favorite TV show probably is Telemundo, and, no offense, you probably hate puppies.
17-20: You’re so close! Not quite American, not quite un-American, you wander through this great country, looking for a home, without realizing that it’s starring at you right in the face. We weep for you because you think you can see when you truly are blind.
21-35: Hey! Good for you! You’re an American, tried and true. You love this great country, and you probably love the America Fun Fact of the Day by extension. If someone gave you an American flag lapel, you’d probably consider wearing it at some point!
70: So you must be the child. The one who was born from an egg fertilized at the same time from the seed of John Wayne, James Dean, Frank Sinatra, and Bear Grylls. They said it couldn’t be done. I doubted that you were real. I, for one, sir (or ma’am), am honored to meet you.
Or you’re a fucking liar.