There’s been some uproar lately over Michele’s quiz on the new How Well Do You Know Me quiz site she found. Apparently most of our friends couldn’t make it past the 60% correct mark. That’s how well we all know her: 60% or less. She’s been getting e-mail apologies right and left from those folks she once called friends.
Well Francisly, I think it’s a load of hooey. Hooey! Michele, if you’re going to cultivate this air of mystery then you have to expect your friends to fail your quiz. You wear all black all the time; you speak in odd languages when you’re upset; you use mysterious code words; you spy on foreign governments – well, shoot, we’re just down-home folks who wouldn’t know a ‘rendevous’ if it bit us on our overall-clad behinds. And we can’t spell it, either. Now how can you expect us to understand you? And when you’re all the time jetting off to secret assignations and hiding from Cute Brian, well, I think you just gotta reap what you sow, chowderhead. And I mean that affectionately.
I love you. Don’t get me wrong. But there are things about your animal-sacrificing, pygmie-loving lifestyle that I find downright unsavory. 60%? Well, frankly, that’s enough for me.