Lately, everyone on the internet has taken BuzzFeed’s Succession quiz(zes). While the results appear to be very accurate (it’s true, I am such a Willa), the descriptions seem a little too optimistic for a show about a family of narcissistic monsters. For instance, “You are a person that sees the big picture, and that may be what saves you in the end” (Connor) and “You are smart, passionate, goal-oriented, and driven” (Kendall) aren’t exactly the first things that come to mind when I think of these sicko sociopaths. Here’s what your results really mean:
You’re Roman Roy!
You’re a dirty little slime puppy, aren’t you? Yeah, you like it when I call you slime puppy, don’t you? That’s because you’re a sick twisted little boy. God, you’re disgusting. You want me to spit in your mouth, don’t you? Go into the bathroom and think about what you’ve done.
You’re Kendall Roy!
You are as unstable as you are morally bankrupt. Some days you’re feeling great, walkin’ around town with a huge grin on your face, because you just fucked someone you like. Other days, you’re very sad, being spit on, torn between wanting to murder your dad and wanting to give him a little kiss on the mouth. Keep pursuing your dreams of a rap career!
You’re Tom Wamsgans!
Warm up a glass of milk and take a little nap, buddy. No, no, don’t worry, someone will wake you when it’s time for you to take the fall.
You’re Logan Roy!
You’re surrounded by sycophants and morons and waiter-killers and you need to trim the fat, goddammit. You didn’t get here by not telling your own children that they’re worthless and screaming in helicopters. What’s that, your heart hurts? Shut up and take it, ride this baby out until you see every last one of them in hell. Also, take an aspirin.
You’re Shiv Roy!
Yas Queen! You are an empowered #girlboss. You understand that a woman’s place is in the boardroom, not the kitchen. The patriarchy needs to be toppled, and you are the one to do it. Lean in, you powerful goddess, and take what’s rightfully yours. Only you can stand up for the brave women who have suffered under the fist of toxic masculinity and who dare to raise their voices and say: Me Too. Unless, of course, they present obstacles to your own ascension, in which case their credibility must be undermined at all costs. Use whatever resources are at your disposal.
You’re Cousin Greg!
My man! It’s been a while since you were smokin’ that sticky icky in your car and barfin’ in your work uniform. You’ve really pulled yourself together, and that’s great. You know what’s not great? Uncles and grandpas. Man, yeah, they suck! They make shit hard for you. But you’re a man with a plan these days, and besides, you have a sick apartment and whatever, no one is gonna put you in jail. Right? Hahaha? Right??? Oopsies, careful, you just boinked your head on the way out.
You’re Connor Roy!
Listen to your intuition about 9/11. You’ve seen Loose Change. You know a calculated demolition when you see one. Also … you’re right about JFK Jr. He’s alive; fit as a fiddle, in fact. The Clintons know where he is. Ask Bill next time you see him at Argestes. Anyway, you’re a man of the people, and when you’re in charge everyone will get their own private island and private jet.
You’re an artist, babe. You were destined to create. You are the voice of your generation — or, at the very least, the voice of a generation. Much like the titular sand from your underrated Broadway debut, Sands, you are limitless: both tough and soft, microscopic and vast. You contain multitudes, and also, possibly, sand mites. Don’t let the haters get you down.
You are a beautiful, rare Lebanese rose, your thorns as prickly as your smell is sweet. Qui court deux lièvres à la fois, n’en prend aucun. Les bons comptes font des bons amis. Stay the course. Nobody will ever find out your secrets.