Though you are mostly dead inside, fantastical environments and escapist atmospheres put a thump in your black heart. You find solace in the company of singing robotic humans, animals, and plants. You overreact to and willingly hug strangers in costumes. Popcorn, cotton candy, hot dogs, and churros are all acceptable building blocks in your food pyramid.

Big-screen characters are not fictional entities but living members of your family. If there were a fragrance called "Old Pulp," it would be your signature scent. You find it entirely sane to own multiple pressings of your least favorite piece of vinyl. Your childhood babysitter, a person by the name of Teevee, continues to be your very best friend.

You enjoy big, colorful drinks in small, dark spaces. On more than one occasion, you have been captivated by voodoo, satan, or a demonic monkey wearing a fez. You crave the opportunity to be lost on a desert island. There is a good chance you have inadvertently sacrificed a human being while shouting nonsensical prayers to a false idol.