Your occupation:

Junkie.
Writer.
Rock star.
Journalist.
Intelligence agent.
Janitor.
Coal miner.
English translator.

The one you fancy:

Is a courtesan.
Is filthy rich and spoiled rotten.
Has a fetish for calligraphy.
Is a glam rocker.
Is underage.
Is a doctor.
Is a murderer and master of disguise.
Is my ex.

You would describe yourself as:

A bit of a troublemaker, but can be nice when I want to be.
Smart and quite a ladie's [and men's] man.
Sarcastic and a bit selfish at times.
Hard working and shy.
Sensitive and determined.
A hopeful dreamer.
A total badass...with a soft side.
Quiet and reserved with obsessive qualities.

In your free time, you:

Attempt to write a trash novel.
Do drugs, shoot dogs, kick around the footy, go to clubs.
Play in a band. A brass band.
Write, spend time with my significant other, sing.
Watch television, eat junk food, spend money.
Write on my significant other's body and shag a book publisher.
Spend way too much time on the computer.
Sing with my band, flirt with boys in eyeliner, and read Oscar Wilde.

Your friends:

They're nice and all, but I wouldn't trust them.
In the music business, nobody's your friend.
They're freaks -- but I mean that in the best way possible.
Friends? When did I get those?
I don't have any friends. I'd rather be alone.
I don't have close friends, really.
They're all fuckin' mad. But I love them.
They're hard-working blokes like me.

Pick a song:

Elton John "Your Song."
Iggy Pop "Lust For Life."
Roxy Music "Virginia Plain."
Nina Simone "My Baby Just Cares For Me."
Beck "Deadweight."
"Danny Boy." Aye, classic.
Some Tibetan ritual music would be nice.
No thank you. It distracts from my work.

So why so sad?

Piss off! Who asked you?
My lover is quite angry at me.
My wife left and took my daughter with her. I haven't seen either of them in seven years.
I lost my job, I lost my girlfriend, I lost my home and my posessions.
I'm a drug addict and one of my close friends died.
My roommate died and we had to dispose of his body and one of my other roommates has gone completely mad and moved into the loft. Oh, and the police are after us.
I've lost my job and my will to go on.
The love of my life died.

So what are you going to do about it?

Try and get my job back...no matter what I have to do.
I'm going to laugh. Look who's the clever one now!
Shag a good looking boy in eyeliner, of course!
Kill myself.
Hope to find the light at the end of the tunnel...somewhere.
I'm going to run away and start my life all over. A new beginning, if you will.
Write a book about it.
Obsess over someone. Stalking is a good cure for lonliness, I hear.

Finish this sentence: "If you can't beat 'em..."

Put on a pair of leather pants and some eyeliner and rock!
Toot your own horn. [Aye, get it? It's a pun!]
Wank, sleep, or get high.
Sing and dance!
Stalk them.
Outsmart them.
Seduce them.
Kidnap them.

Any last words?

"The only reason I get up in the morning is to see if my luck's changed. And it never bloody has."
"Use my body like the pages of a book. Your book."
"I hate children. I'd raise money to have the little fuckers put down. I want my money back!"
"I don't talk to anyone."
"I'm doing my best under really difficult circumstances!"
"We would have injected vitamin C if only they had made it illegal."
"A real artist creates beautiful things and puts nothing of his own life into them."
"Above all things I believe in love! Love is like oxygen, love is a many-splendored thing, love lifts us up where we belong, all you need is love!"