Your favourite blog and you!

Over at Slacktory (which clearly isn't a British or Canadian site, given the negative connotations of 'Tory' amongst the non-evil sections of their populations, and the name reminds me that I invented the term 'slackademic' last year), there's a handy guide to what your favourite blogs say about your personality. It's based on popular hipster sites rather than blogs written by individuals, so yours truly isn't listed (bah! and no PZ Myers either), but some caught my eye.

Of the sites listed, I'm an ex-reader of Huffington Post, before I decided its politics were smug, narcissistic privileged woo:

Most of your pleasures are guilty pleasures.

a reader of BoingBoing:

You’ve voted for a satirical political candidate. You are someone's favorite uncle who taught them how to build their own toys. You are someone's "cool" aunt who sends the amazing Birthday gifts from far-off lands. You know swear words in fifteen languages. You have built seven completely different and contest-winning party costumes around a single vintage fez.]

a condition to which I aspire, though they missed the use of Arduino chips to create a working replica of the Enterprise, I'm a fan of Think Progress:

You can communicate multiple levels of disgust with your snorts.

and I intend to be a reader of The Awl:

You aren’t snotty about keeping books in good condition, you acknowledge that dogears and scribbled notes are healthy, but you have a few special editions you’d only lend out to a very close friend.

So what does your presence here on The Plashing Vole tell us? Many of you are current or ex-students, so you've been conditioned/brainwashed by my mordantly boring lectures. You clearly like sarcasm, Stoke City, and the sight of an innocent local Member of Parliament being bullied like an unwanted puppy, you heartless bastards. You tolerate my lengthy political and educational rants and take comfort from not being me. Reading Vole is, I suspect, the online equivalent of rubbernecking at a car crash: all very well when you're cruising past, not so great if you're being pulled from the wreckage and shovelled into a series of evidence bags.

Clearly you're all at the top of the scale for intelligence, wit, culture and attractiveness. Except for you, Zoot Horn.

Toodle-pip.