How American Are You Quiz: Part Two

“Get the hell out of here, and take your loveable slacker persona with you, motherfucker!”

~Steven Spielberg, AFFotD’s Hiring Director

For the first time in the history of the America Fun Fact of the Day, we’ve encountered something…well, something terrible.  It is with great shame that we must admit that last week, we accidentally hired a staff member who was not American.  This has never happened before, we swear to God, it was an honest mistake.  We thought that Seth Rogen would fit the much needed “Chubby funny man/loveable slacker” position.  We were excited to have him, we all thought Superbad was a great movie, and not only because we supported the central theme of “underage Americans buying booze to get laid at a party.”  We thought it had a lot of heart.  Like when Michael Cera’s character dropped that bottle of liquor on the bus, and it shattered all over the place, we really felt for the kid.  And all that booze that he could have been drinking.  The only unrealistic part of that scene was that no one immediately dropped to the floor in a desperate part to lick the remains, but we’ll let that one go.

So, as he was turning in his pay forms, and we were asking him about the movie (we basically kept saying, “Hey, hey, Seth…remember McLovin’?” and he’d say, “Yeah,” and we’d say, “Haha, awesome!”) he said, “Well, I got these forms here, I mean, I left the social security part blank, I hope that’s okay.”  We told him it was, a lot of us like being paid under the table in cash, or bootleg DVDs, so that’s not an unusual request.  But then, then, he said, “Well, I’m excited to be working with you, I’ll see you guys bright and early tomorrow, eh?”

The offices went silent.  Some of us dropped our whisky glasses.  One of the interns started crying, but that might have been because we stuck him on “mail bomb checking duty,” so that wasn’t too strange.  At that point, Steven Spielberg, who works in our HR Department, actually read the information listed in Rogen’s hiring forms.  This was the first time anyone at AFFotD has bothered to read the damn things, or even really read in general.  Spielberg flat out admits that he picks movies to direct based on if it’s written in bold font or not, and would be the first to admit that he’s gotten pretty lucky with that.  But sure enough, on Seth Rogen’s form, under birthplace…

It listed Vancouver.  Canada.

That’s right, loyal readers.  America Fun Fact of the Day, where literally nearly double digits amount of people rely on their American knowledge, had employed a Canadian for nearly ten minutes.  We’ve tried to rectify this, we fired Judd Apatow for recommending the hire (and also, really, his work’s sort of been underwhelming post-2007), and our snipers took a couple of pot shots at him as he fled the building.  Though, he was hilarious when he was scrambling and darting around during that whole “us shooting at him” thing.  Say what you will about his country of birth, that motherfucking Canadian is funny.

As we looked back, trying to see where we went wrong, we realized that he had scored a 25 on his “How American Are You?” Quiz.  That’s solidly American, a healthy clip above the “questionable” cut off of 21 points.  That just won’t do, if our America Quiz fails us, how can we keep the Seth Rogens and Jim Carreys out (Oh shit, Jim Carrey’s Canadian too?  Goddamn it!)?  If our America Quiz fails us, how can we convince ourselves to turn down the applications of Pamela Anderson or Natasha Henstridge (GODDAMN YOU CANADA!)?

And so it is out of necessity that we present part two of the “How American Are You?” quiz which we call “How American Are You?  No, Really” quiz.  The scoring is simple.  First, take your result from the first test (which is no doubt seared into your brains), and add the following points for each answer.  If you answer A, you receive zero points, B is one point, C is six points, D is eight points, and E is worth ten points.  The more American answers are worth more points than in the previous test, to truly separate the Larry Davids from the Dan Aykroyds.

1. Finish this sentence.  Whisky is…

a.       Oh God, it’s you again.  How did you find me?  No seriously, I put out a restraining order against you that last time.  What do you mean, “what did we do?”  You know gosh-darn well what you did!  You poisoned me with an alcoholic animal based beverage, and slathered ham on my face.  I had to go every zoo in the state and apologize personally to every animal for what I did to their brothers.  You’re evil, you hear me?  Evil and vile.  Just like whisky.

b.      Well, like I told you earlier, I don’t really drink, except for the occasional Shirley Temple, ha ha.  You’ve had Shirley Temples, right?  Noooo, not the actress, but I do love her movies, she is just too much.  No, you see, when you make a Shirley Temple you take, get this, Seven-Up or Sprite, although sometimes when I want to be adventurous I use…ready for it?  Squirt! I know, I know, I was sort of the wild child of my family.  So, you take this Seven-Up or what have you, and you add grenadine.  It’s like a cherry explosion!  I’d take that over any cocktail, which I find to be an offensive word, and most definitely I would rather have that than whisky.  Ew.  Sometimes, if I’m at my friends house, I’ll say, “Hey fellas, do you have the necessary ingredients for a Shirley Temple?”  And they say, “Why sure thing, it’s right here behind this corner.”  And when I follow them, they scream, “SURELY, TEMPLE!” and they punch me right in the fucking temple so hard I pass out.  When I wake up, I’m in a dark room hanging from the ceiling and they shock me with a car battery like it’s the opening goddamn scene from Slumdog Millionaire.  No matter how loud I scream, no one can hear me.  Where do they take me so that no one can hear me!?

c.       To be honest, I’m not much of a whisky fan.  I’ll drink mixed drinks with vodka or rum generally, and I’ll drink beer or wine, but whisky’s just a little too harsh for me.  No problem with it, it’s just a taste preference.

d.      I like whisky, or most brown liquors really.  I’ll drink most spirits, but whisky sometimes just hits the spot, you know?  Warms you up, liquors you up, and though it’s a bit of an acquired taste, once you’ve acquired it there’s not much out there that tastes better.

e.      I’m not the type to get all poetic, but…Whisky’s real fuckin’ good.  When I wake up in the morning and the wife is all, “You gotta stop drinkin’ whisky all day and look for a damn job, we’ve eaten nothin’ but spam and ramen for the last two months and I think I’m coming down with a vitamin K deficiency” or whatever she’s yammering about, I just pour myself a warm glass of whisky, or bourbon if the mood strikes, and sort of whisper, “See, whisky, you don’t judge me.”  I know that may sound depressing, but if you knew how good the whisky I buy is, it would make absolute sense to you.

2. What is your ideal Friday night out?

a.       Okay, you know what, fine, I’ll answer your darn questions, or at least until the police arrive.  They sometimes take a long time because they say I should “stop calling 9-1-1 to complain about teenagers on skateboards going past your house” but I have it on good authority that those boards aren’t even made of wood, they use a polycarbonate base and a polymer paint.  You know what plastics are made of?  Oil.  That’ll just fill up the landfills when those kids are done with it, yet I’m the one who is breaking the law by doing my civic duty?  What…what are you doing?  Oh god, is that another slice of ham?  Okay, okay, okay, fine I’ll answer your gosh darned question.  Jerks.  I like to spend my Fridays reading a good book and thinking about how much better I am than everyone else as I eat unpasteurized whey.  DARN IT I SAID DON’T TOUCH ME WITH THAT HAM!

b.      Well, normally when I get home from work I want to spend a good hour or two watching the PBS NewsHour and whatever comes on afterwards, usually while working on my latest project.  Right now, I’m building a model of the HMS Surprise in a bottle.  I don’t mean to say that the HMS Surprise is my favorite replica of an 18th century British ship, but it sort of is, ha ha.  Usually at some point, my friends call me and say things like, “No, come on man, go hang out with us.”  I try to tell them no, pointing out that literally every time I have ever seen them something terrible has happened to me, and they keep going, “Come on man, we really want to hang out with us.”  So I’ll relent, and go, “Okay guys, where do you want to go?” and they tell me to meet them behind the local TGI Fridays.  So, I’ll head over, and I do exactly what they tell me to do, they say, “Just stand on the X near the dumpster, we’ll be there and we can go inside and eat some of that non-alcoholic Jack Daniels sauce.”  While I don’t like the sound of Jack Daniels, the non-alcoholic part sounded delightful, so I head over, and sure enough, I’ll see large yellow X.  And I’m worried about this large yellow X, because that seems to imply that it’s a trap door or a boulder is going to drop on it or something.  But when I go to it…nothing happens.  Now I’m thinking, “Oh God, whatever they’re going to do to me, they’ll do when I move,” so I’m screaming, “Come on out guys, this isn’t funny, where are you hiding?” until my voice is hoarse.  Moments become minutes, minutes become hours, and I’m petrified to move.  Finally, the next morning, as I’m shaking from fear and exposure, one of my friends calls and goes, “Dude, why aren’t you at your house?  We’ve been waiting all night for you to figure we ditched you and come back to see how we set your damn house on fire, and you didn’t show.”  God…just goddamn it.

c.       You know, depends on the Friday.  Sometimes, I’ll go out to a bar or something, sometimes I’ll just stay in and watch movies or catch up on some back work.  Really depends on how tired I am at the end of the day.

d.      I almost always at least force myself to go out, even if I’m tired I’m gonna want to go drinking with my friends.  I’ll usually close out the bar, unless I had a late Thursday, but generally I’ll go out, probably spend more than I should on beers at bars, and flirt with some members of the opposite sex.  If I have a bit too much to drink, you might catch me singing along to the music playing in the bar.  Fuck it, it’s Friday, you know?

e.      My typical Friday night starts with two hours at the gun range (public park), followed by a raw steak, 64 ounce, ideally from a cow I’ve recently killed with my bare hands.  Then I wash that down with a beer stein of room temperature fine whisky, and snack on a bowl of Fried Salted Potato Strips.  After that, there is no typical night.  Some nights I’ll walk by the docks to see if I can help unload smuggled endangered animals, but only if they swear to me that the animals are going to be used for food.  Others, I’ll get plastered and see how many stops I can hold onto the top of a subway train until I get thrown off.  Maybe I’ll “Crash” a wedding, where I beat up the groom before he walks down the aisle, put on his tux, and see if I can get the bride to play along with it until the wedding night is over.  Usually I can.  Incidentally, does anyone know how to get back from Sandals, Jamaica?

3. “The fastest I’ve ever driven is _______ because _______”

a.       Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve been telling you?  Did you know that cars are the reasons why baby penguins die?  Did you know that every time a car is built, the automakers sterilize a panda?  Cars are almost as bad as alcohol, which is the worst thing I can think of.  It goes alcohol, cars, nuclear power plants, Hitler, and using toilet paper instead of leaves, in that order.  You should be ashamed.  I jog everywhere I go.  Well, I power walk.  The fastest I’ve gone was a 13 minute mile, so you can do the math yourself and figure out that that’s pretty darn fast.  Not that I like to brag, but I’m sort of…hey, what are you doing?  Stop that!  LET GO OF ME!  LET GO OF ME!  Why…no, no, do NOT put me in this CAR!  Stop trying to tie me down!  Oh god, why are you turning the car on?  What are you doing?  What’s that hose for?  Why are you closing my garage door and my windows, and putting the hose onto, *cough* the muffler?  I don’t…oh…getting…getting sleepy…

b.      “150 miles per hour” because “My friends saw me stopped at a red light with my windows down and were like, ‘Let’s get him!’ so one of them cut my brakes line while the other jammed a cinderblock over the accelerator.  I drove into a goddamn ravine, I almost died!”

c.       “110 miles per hour” because “I was going on a road trip on I-80, and it was a pretty open stretch, so I wanted to make some good time.”

d.      “90 miles per hour” because “I’m not proud of it, but I might have been a little buzzed, and a car was trying to pass me on the highway.”

e.      “Don’t know, the goddamn speedometer broke off” because “I participate in illegal underground drag races with my 1973 Ford Mustang, and I always win.”

4. Pornography is…

a.       Mnnm….huh……jus……just got……gotta………..*snores*

b.      That is filthy, dirty, vile, and gross.  There is no “I” in pornography, I can tell you that.  The only time I ever agreed to watch anything of that…foul nature was when my friends told me I had to watch this “Two Girls One Cup” video that apparently is very popular. They said they wanted to  “record my reaction to it.”  They promised me it would get one million views on youtube and make me famous.  And so I started watching it, and there were these two women, and this piano music playing…and then they stuck a rag of chloroform over my mouth and I passed out.  When I woke up, I was tied to a chair in a ball gag, and I remember them saying, “Ha ha, holy shit, he’s up.  Man that took a while, how much chloroform was on that damn rag?  Okay, guess it’s time to get the gimp.”  Then I blacked out.  I think they did end up putting it online, because every once and a while someone goes up to me and goes, “Holy shit, you’re the Gimp Video guy!  Dude, that was the nastiest shit I’ve ever seen.”

c.       I know people who watch pornography, but I usually don’t watch it that much.  I just don’t see the appeal of it.

d.      I watch porn, hell, most people do, right?  There’s nothing wrong with it.  Why, you want to know which sites are good for free streaming videos?

e.      My current profession.

5. What is your favorite holiday?

a.       OH MY GOD OFFICER THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR FINALLY ARRIVING!  These, these MONSTERS, they tied me to my car and tried to kill me!  Kill me!  Yes, that’s right, arrest them.  What?  What?  Why are you cuffing ME!?  What are you talking about me filing too many false police reports?  There is a CAR THROUGH THE WALL OF MY HOUSE!  Why are you writing down “Classic cry for help?”  No, no you have to stop these people!  Their test is evil!  THEIR TEST IS EVIL!

b.      I don’t like to celebrate holidays.  Every holiday I’ve ever had has been ruined by my friends, they always show up with like, a Christmas ham, and it turns out the ham is a bomb, or the ham is poisoned or something, and I’m sick of it!  I’m scared to death every day.  Whenever the doorbell rings I flinch.  This is no way to live, I feel like a caged animal!  I’ll get back at them…yes…I’ll get back at them.

c.       Uh, I don’t know, Christmas probably.  I like presents.  Uh…maybe you should check on that B answer guy, it looks like he just snapped.  He’s like tearing off his clothes and just smashing stuff, and it sounds like he’s starting to talk in some sort of gibberish dialect.  Someone should maybe help him?

d.      Hahahaha, duuude, look at that B guy, he’s going crazy.  Oh, I’m loving this, that guy was such a prick.  He finally snapped!  Oh man, where’d he get that gun?  I’m not even concerned for my own safety, he’s just shooting in the air like an enraged trained monkey, this is the funniest thing I’ve seen all week.  Oh, favorite holiday?  Probably Christmas, nothing’s better than stuffing your face with food while getting showered with gifts you more or less didn’t do anything to deserve, right?

e.      Every day is a holiday for me, I call it “America day” and I celebrate it with whisky, steak, and the occasional fistfight.

So there we go.  Now, tally up your scores, and add up your totals with your total from the first quiz, and let’s see where you land out of a possible 85.

0:  Okay, you’re fucking with us, right?  You cannot possibly exist.  Stop, no, stop lying.  You’re doing it wrong.  Take the fucking test again until you get something other than zero, you’re doing it wrong goddamn it.

1-20:  We’re not saying that you hate America, but…no, that’s exactly what we’re saying.

21-53:  You either don’t want to be American, but have some American tendencies sneaking in, or you want to be American, but probably are of French heritage.  Either way, get some work in the gun range, learn to stomach raw meat, and get that alcohol tolerance up, and someday you can be a real boy!

54-70:  Hey, look at you!  You’re American!  Well, probably.  We’d have to check to make sure, Seth Rogen could probably sneak in here.  But, still, you are living life the American way, and you should commend yourself.

70-79:  You are the cream of the American crop, you are the AFFotD approved badasses of the land.  If you applied for a job with us, we’d totally not shred your application if we noticed spelling errors.  In fact, we’d probably put you in the interview pile, because fuck speling things write, that’s the lest American thing we can think of.

80:…Teddy Roosevelt?  Is…is that you?  We didn’t think you’d ever come back.  When you said you were going to the convenience store to kill some Indians, you didn’t leave us enough time to say, “No, no, those aren’t the kinds of Indians you’re thinking of.”  But you never came back.  Whatever the reason, we’re sorry for what we did, and…and, welcome home granddad.

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3 responses to “How American Are You Quiz: Part Two

  1. Dude. It’s mathematically impossible to be an American. Where was the test written, Ottawa?

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