The Leadership Test

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

‘You tend to see threats everywhere and always focus on worst case scenarios’!!!

Well, not normally, I don’t. Not unless I’ve just been compared to one of the most reviled figures of the twentieth century. I mean, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit upset at the outcome of this personality test.

I have to thank Steve at The Daily Referendum for bringing this little gem to my attention. I'm still as paranoid as ever, but now in a one-testicle kind of way. I honestly thought I'd emerge as a John Major figure, heavily into underpant usage and light on foreign policy. To say I'm a little disappointed is an understatement, though Gabby is telling me to take it as a omen of bigger things ahead.

‘Such as Poland?’ I asked.

She laughed. ‘You mustn’t always interpret these things as being negative. Try to see positive side of it.’

‘I’m trying,’ I said, looking down at my black leather thong and wondering if there was something more to my liking it than the comfort of feeling a fur lining against my loins. ‘You don’t think I look a little too Nazi in this?’

‘Thong good,' she replied, 'but I think boots don’t suit Chippy.'

I went and stood in front of the mirror. My knee high black leather boots were meant to keep my feet warm on these cold Bangor nights. ‘You do know that if I don’t wear these, I’ll have to bring out my big electric slipper?’ I explained.

She frowned at the idea. For those of you not in the know: my office is on the cold side of the flat and, after three hours writing, my feet can be like blocks of frozen anti-fungal cream. Gabby thinks my Scholl heated slipper is a bit too geriatric.

‘Look,’ I said. ‘I can look like Thora Hird or Adolf Hitler. It’s a hard decision but it’s one you have to make.’

She thought a moment or two longer than I expected given the moral equation she was trying to solve. ‘Thora Hird,’ she replied, finally. ‘Nice lady. Much missed by Gabby.’

I kicked off my jackboots as I went to search out the big slipper in the spare room.

‘Do you think I’m safe?’ I asked ten minutes later as I came hopping into the room in search of a spare plug socket. ‘You don’t suppose Steve at The Daily Referendum is going to tell me that Thora Hird was a war criminal and that the big slipper is a sign of my tacit approval of her zimmer frame policy of 1944? My feet couldn’t take another cold winter.’

Gabby helped plug me in. ‘Gabby sure Steve understands,’ she said. ‘In fact, I bet he has big Thora Hird slipper too.’

And do you know what, my kind readers: I bet he does. I bet he does...

Just Popping Out

I'm just back from the post office. It’s been a bit of a slow day today but I thought I’d show you the letter I’ve just despatched with a parcel. If it tells you anything it should tell you not to mess with The Chipster.

Psmerch, Psmerch,and Tiddle
Manufacturers of Erotic Lingerie
19-23 XXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Margate
United Kingdom

Mr. Crispen Dale
11 XXXXX XXXXXX
BANGOR
WALES

Telephone: XXXXX XXXXXXX

Email: bigchipdale@yahoo.co.uk

Dear Mr. Psmerch,

Enclosed are twelve male thongs (extra large) I’m returning due to an evident manufacturing or design fault. Excuse me for being so crude about this but I believe that most men have two testicles. Your thongs are designed for men with only one. And contrary to all rumours, I am not an Austrian-born painter and decorator with a love of a certain young fraulein called Eva.

I bought these items in a discount erotica store here in Bangor and was intending to wear them during a high profile stripping convention that I’ll be attending in America next week. Your products would have been seen by thousands and would have become the talk of the stripping world. Instead, they will be stuck in a post box somewhere in Wales.

As a professional dancer who wears thongs every day both professionally and at leisure, I think I know a thing or two about their design. By providing room for only half of my manly items, you have exposed me to very great embarrassment on those occasions when I slipped out. I would like you to think about the following anecdote when you come to consider the amount of compensation you owe me.

Friday morning, I was vacuuming my flat when the doorbell rang. You should know that it’s my habit of doing the house work in only my thong, finding that it’s more comfortable that way, and easier to shower after I’ve finished doing all the dirty work. At the door, three members of the local Christian mission were collecting donations to send the local deaf children on holiday this summer. Of course, I always like to do my part and I went to get my wallet. When I returned, the Christians had gone without waiting for the ten pounds I’d promised them. Only when I looked down and realised that your garment had failed me yet again did I understand their reticence in taking my money. So, Mr. Psmerch, not only did you rob the deaf children of a holiday this year, but you exposed me to very great humiliation in the eyes of God and have probably consigned me to damnation. What price do you put on spending an eternity writhing in the seething cauldron of hell’s furnace?

I await your reply but please do not bother to send me any of your poor quality underwear. I won’t tell you what the very thought does to my lower regions.

I remain you humble servant,

Mr. Crispen ‘Chip’ Dale