of no fixed subtitle
July 28, 2008
AND ARE YOU?
Ethical, that is. The Times (London) has this "Moral DNA Test." Interesting.
15 years ago
Meh. I cheated.
I don't wanna give them my tender e-mail privates. Can someone post the questions here so I can prove my ethicals?
Use mailinator.com for a throw-away email address. Or just enter anything in the field. Even though they suggest you will need it for the results, there's a "just give me the results" button at the end.
Oh yes, I'm "the philosopher". It got my university major right at least. Maybe one of you will get "the chemist" or "the romance languager" or something?
I'm talkin' about friendship. I'm talkin' about character. I'm talkin' about-- Hell, Leo, I ain't embarrassed to use the word. I'm talkin' about ethics. You know I'm a sportin' man. I like to lay the occasional bet. But I ain't that sportin'. When I fix a fight, say I pay a three to one favorite to throw a goddamned fight. I figure I got the right to expect that fight to go off at three to one. But every time I place a bet with that son of a bitch Bernie Bernbaum, before I know it, the odds is even up. Or worse, I'm bettin' on the short money. The sheeny knows I like sure things. He's sellin' the information I fixed the fight. Out of town money comes pouring in. The odds go straight to hell. I don't know who he's sellin' to-- maybe the Los Angeles combine. I don't know. The point is, Bernie ain't satisfied with the honest dollar he can make off the fix. He ain't satisfied with the business I do on his book. He is sellin' tips on how I bet. And that means part of the payoff that should be riding on my hip is riding on someone else's. So, back we go to these questions. Friendship. Character. Ethics.
I'm a teacher? Obviously they forgot to ask about the quality of patience.
I'm a "Philosopher" it seems. Raise an eyebrow on that one. It's a bit bogus. A few questions on the premise that you'll be
in answering them? I bet a sociopath would get the most
The test seemed kind of short to me, so I took it a second time, deliberately entering information contrary to my first try. The results came out the same. Either the Universe really does know I'm a "Teacher," or there's something a bit odd about the test.
I notice it quotes some dude's book. Maybe they're trying to sell it.
Oh, sure. Someone with your ethical score
think that! ;-)
Called me an Enforcer. It couldn't be more wrong.
Typical answer from an Enforcer! GramMa, what's with the super tiny dots and extra large images? Called me a Teacher.
Typical answer from an Enforcer!
You're on the list!
Extra large images is because I'm too lazy to edit them down when I
(I certainly wouldn't be offended if Trac does--actually, from now on, I hereby swear that I will edit them to a better size--Pleze, oh pleze, don't revoke my image posting privileges!)
Actually, since this pic is nearly lifesize, you can see how handsome rocket is with the sideburns and all. Widdle teeny weenie tiny dots in a FFP are MY. SECRET. getcherown
Has no one yet made the obligatory snark about an ethical test in a Murdoch paper?
I wish it weren't simply self-assessment based on adjectives. It's not a measure of what you actually do/think, but merely your self-image. Some people have an accurate image of themselves, but I'm sure that I don't. I wish it has instead been designed with actual questions about moral dilemnas, and thus looked how different people actually choose.
Every other monkey outta the boat!!!
You, el Queso and RTD are in an airplane that needs aviation fuel. There is only one parachute. Who puts on the parachute, who buys hamburgers for the pilot, and who gets out to fuel the plane?
el Queso gives the pilot a cheese burger, I get out to fuel, and you don't have a thing to worry about, as, obviously, we are still on the tarmac.
el Queso calmly retrieves his carry-on bag from the overhead compartment, extracts from it a small cooler, a butane stove and a picnic hamper. Deploying his tray table to the down and ready position, he quickly proceeds to grill an exquisite Kobe sirloin patty to perfection, the exterior well-charred with a succulent moist center, topped with a generous, but not overwhelming, slice of Somerset cheddar. Served on a pristine bun, baked that very morning at the Sisters of the Wheatsheaf Convent and 24 Hour Bakery, with crisp arugula and thinly sliced heirloom tomatoes, el Queso's magnificent burger will provide the pilot with the sustenance he so desperately needs at a time like this. RTD, springing from his seat, straps on the parachute and, yelling "Geronimo", leaps, arms akimbo, out the rear passenger door, landing on the tarmac three feet below. After dusting himself off, he strides manfully to the aerodrome, while adjusting his flying helmet and goggles. Meanwhile, GramMa presses the stewardess button, asks for another Gin and Tonic, this time with a little less tonic, and returns to her knitting. AirMonkey is (nearly) ready for takeoff!