This one’s for the ladies. All the ladies in the house. asterisk
Q: How do you like to meet men?
- a at uptight parties where they mistake you for the help
- b through your husband, you cheating cheater
- c at orphanages for Jewish kids, where you hang out, ya perv
Q: What’s your preferred relationship situation?
- a long-distance abuse, fighting, frigidity
- b more passion than the world has ever known…on the page
- c shackin’ up…but only when he’s dying
Q: How important is your lover’s so-called “art”?
- a kinda–although suicide stories dedicated to you turn you off
- b very–you’d even translate some of it into Czech
- c not so–if he asked you to burn it, you would…if it made him happy
Q: How do most of your relationships end?
- a you’re on-off-on-off-on-off until you just can’t take it anymore
- b your husband finds out about them
- c the motherfucker dies
Mostly “a” answers means that you are Felice Bauer. On the bright side, you were Kafka’s first AND third fiancee. The only downer is that he used to tell you that “coitus” was “punishment for being together” and sniped at you for not being smart enough to understand his greaty-weatest writing of the 20th Century or whatever. Kafka will knock up your best friend. You will forgive him, and her, for some reason. You will eventually move on, but not before being immortalized as all manner of dysfunctional, mercurial, heinous charicature of a woman in many works of literature.
Mostly “b” answers means that you are Milena Jesenka, you hot little minx. Ooh, you’re turning me on already. Milena was so hot. Pros: explosive, intellectually-charged hot fire. Cons: your husband, lots of fights. Your searing impression on Kafka’s psyche will only be marginally as important as your successful translations of his work into the native language of his hometown. Man, you’re hot. Let’s do it.
Mostly “c” answers means that you are Dora Diamant, giant-gummed, enigmatic, nubile. The good part is that you are the only person Kafka was ever truly happy with. The bad part is that you have to watch him croak. And then there were those decades in the Gulag. And all that writing you burned. But you didn’t know any better, really.
Well, ladies, there you have it. My advice to you: next time, try to go for someone with healthy lungs and a father who didn’t touch/berate his butthole.