A Journey of Self-Discovery: Zimbio Pirates I Have Been

Never in the history of mankind has the accumulated knowledge of the cosmos been closer to our fingertips.  Every day, we know more about our universe, our planet, our fellow humans, and when I have a question about these things, a few keystrokes find me the answer.  How many miles are between here and Harry Potter land at Universal Studios?  Sixty-eight!  What color is a black hole?  No color at all!  Where have I seen Andrea from The Walking Dead before?  Oh right, The X-Files!  We are knowledgeable.  We are brilliant.  We are captains of all we survey and we know it because the internet has told us so.

But we are also searchers.  We are the bold descendants of Captain Cook and the forbears of Captain Kirk, and we crave the greatness that comes with new understanding.  So with all this information about our world so readily accessible, where do we turn to explore?  What frontiers remain while we’re still waiting for our five-year mission aboard the United Space Ship Enterprise, which, annoyingly, has not yet been built?  Invariably, we turn inward, to the alien waters of our own mysterious psyches and pray that it doesn’t turn out to be a Heart of Darkness kind of trip.

Now, I've heard that there are people who spend years in therapy with trained professionals who try doggedly to bring them closer to a full understanding of who they are and who they can be, while others willingly offer up thousands of hard-earned dollars on the golden altar of Know Thyself at seminars, in bookstores, or in online psychic chat rooms at five dollars a minute.  And I gather yoga’s becoming very popular again.

I have Zimbio and I can uncover the elusive truth of my immortal soul in 15 easy questions. 

How did the trauma of not being given a larger allowance when I was seven damage my current moral code?  I don’t know, but my favorite of these colors is blue.

Will walking the rows of a Kenyan coffee plantation finally eradicate my complete disinterest in coffee as a beverage and the social stigma I bear as a result?  Your guess is as good as mine, but when it’s time to get a job done I choose to get my money up front and I’m not putting my neck on the line for anyone.

Can my inability to tolerate PF Flyers as an adequate alternative to Converse All-Stars be traced back to the time I accidentally watched the beloved-older-brother-getting-stabbed-and-then-run-over-by-a-train scene from Sometimes They Come Back when I was ten?  Well.  Probably.  And of the following foods I prefer pizza as a late night snack.

In analyzing these and other revealing decisions, the Zimbio quiz wizards (Quizards?  I think it should probably be quizards.) have distilled the vast wisdom of both philosophy and psychology into the likening of any unique human individual to a pre-described set of fictional characters, celebrities, and pop songs.  I am Robin Scherbatsky because I am fiercely independent and ever so slightly aloof!  I am Veronica Corningstone because I am smart, hard-working, and look good in front of the camera!  If I were a David Bowie I would be Berlin Bowie because I’ve learned to cherish reality and admire clean minimalism!  And my personal Beyoncé anthem is “Run the World” because I get things done, and I get them done right!  I have regal grace, gosh darn it, and I am enlightened enough to admit it!

Who can argue with keen and uncompromising results like those?  No one, that’s who.

And because I can put my faith in the unfaltering Zimbio method, I have come to realize that in my heart I am a pirate several times over.

Now, we all know that, despite the specious claims of generations of historians (and Robert Louis Stevenson) inexplicably intent on giving rascally seafaring renegades a bad name, pirates are actually lovely human beings.  Errol Flynn and Dustin Hoffman taught us this long ago much more thoroughly than any history book or news report ever could.  Oh, pirates may be a bit rough around the edges perhaps, but ultimately they’re really just misunderstood.  We’re talking hearts of gold here.  Even when Greedo shoots first.  So when I began to notice a distinct list toward piracy as I explored the dark recesses of my soul, I took special note and gathered my findings.

And, for the sticklers among you – those who become pirates in the future count as pirates in the present.  Don't argue with me on this unless you desire a thorough skewering on the business end of me cutlass.

           

Naturally, a galaxy far, far away was the first place I looked for self-knowledge, as many have done before me.  I knew already, of course, that I’m sharp, resourceful, and independent, but I had no idea that I was also so charismatic.  Frankly, I’m not sure others know it, yet, either.  I should probably start slipping it into conversation.  It was hard to be told that I have such shadily opportunistic and scoundrelly tendencies, but this is what personal growth is about – learning the difficult truths about ourselves and coming to terms with them.  Which I have apparently already done, since I like that just fine.  Sure, I would have liked to have discovered my inner Obi-Wan, thereby justifying my nearly constant desire to wave my hand in front of people’s faces and tell them that these are not the somethings they’re looking for, but this way I can justify being a bit rude and rolling my eyes instead.

And my space pirate opportunism was confirmed when, out of all the inhabitants of Storybrooke, I was deemed the spitting mental image of fairy tale pirate Captain Hook.  A shrewd freebooter of the highest caliber, I may unfortunately have to play both ends against the middle while I figure out which side is winning – that’s just practical – but I’m happy to take comfort in my sexy rebelliousness and I think you should, too.  And though I’m not entirely sure how good lone wolves are at driving fast cars (Thumbs might be a problem there.  Should it be a fast ship?  Is there a fast shipping lane?), I evidently drive with passion and that’s what I’ll tell the fuzz when I get pulled over.

Unless, of course, I’ve decided to proudly manipulate or trick my way to my destination like Captain Jack, who, among all Johnny Depp’s characters, most closely resembles my own.  But, since my destinations are usually adventurous and uncharted and I’m sharing my rum, do we really need to complain about me tricking you?  No, wait.  I’m a lone wolf so you’re not there.  Never mind, it wasn’t you.  I probably tricked someone at customs.  And I think we can all agree that they most definitely deserved it.  I mean, seriously, 100 ml?  Give me a break.  I’ll share my rum with my taxi driver on the way to exploring my hotel if the bottle hasn’t broken in the bag that I had to check.  Jerks.

Though if that bottle has broken, you should expect swift retribution, capo ferro style.  I might be a lone wolf now, but I used to have a family (who will probably be sad to find out that they have been murdered), and the loss has clearly unhinged me.  My fierce loyalty to I guess their memory and my steadfast determination to exact revenge upon the, uh, six-fingered blackguard who broke my rum bottle will make you rue the day you ever . . . did something that made me want to get even with you.  It’s probably rum related.  So.  Just remember this, you lousy punks – never go in against a Sicilian when – oh, hang on, that’s not – .  Actually, remember this – I am not left handed!  

I think it’s clear to see the amount of introspective mileage I’m going to be getting out of these pirates.  Now I understand why my small allowance was so traumatic.  It wasn’t gold doubloons.  And my problem with coffee?  It isn’t rum.  I think the PF Flyer thing is still Stephen King’s fault, though.

Now all that’s left for me to decide is whether I’m hoping more for a The Pirates! quiz or a Black Sails quiz next.  In the meantime I’m off to Buzzfeed to try their Once Upon a Time quiz.  I have a very swashbuckly feeling about it.  Fair winds!