Skip to content
- You speak in a hushed tone not to disturb the dissonant string ambient music.
- You are a Master Chef but your dressing style is a bit on the flamboyant side.
- You never met a serial killer that you didn’t like enough not to eat.
- You are a reputed psychoanalyst, but recently you seem to have reached the limit of your therapeutic skills.
- For some reason, you have to mention the city of Chesapeake in every other sentence.
- Even though you are not French, you devote a strong interest for snails.
- You are a creature of habits. You always go to the same shops to buy the same items, be they scents, silk ties, Alba truffles or vintage Bâtard-Montrachet. Conveniently, all those shops are at spitting distance of each other in Florence, Italy, where no one knows you resides.
- You dispationately eat your right leg, knowing there is more to follow.
- You grew a majestic beard in hope it matches the splendor of your ego, but alas, it failed and you die in the process.
- The more jaded you become, the better you dress.
- Your father was a serial killer. Your father figure is a serial killer who set up your father to be killed by the man you love, himself a potential serial killer. There is nothing you would like more than developing your own brand of serial killing. You nevertheless manage to get through two seasons unharmed.
- You play the flute in a renown classical orchestra, or maybe the cello.
- You can never get the classical Italian menu right.
- You are not afraid to eat oysters out of season, since you feel suspicious towards any kind of meat, be it fresh or cured.
- When blood drops, it’s always in slo-mo.
