Lesbian Empress

You know you're a Lesbian Empress:

When you realize anytime someone messes with you, it's like Helen of Troy. There's an army of LezBro's crossing oceans to battle for your honor.

When your LezBro kicks the A$$ of some jerk-off that won't leave you alone, you starting singing, "Hey now, hey now. My LezBro's back!" You sing this unfazed in the middle of the fight.

You wakeup every morning singing, "The boys are back in town!" to which the first thing you do is smoke a cigarette, grab a drink and call the boys to plan the evening.

You keep wanting to do paintball, but you can't because you know the moment you do, the boys will build a human safety vest. And if you're so much as barely dribbled on by one drop of shrapnel paint splatter, the battleground will morph into gorilla warfare with elbows, gun-butting, and underground tunnels.

When a guy tries to hit on you at a bar, he has to walk through twenty men to do it first. By the time he gets as far as two sentences into conversation with you, he's been converted faster than the Borg in Stark Trek.

You hop on stage at Karaoke, and the next thing you know, you're Joan Jett and the Black Hearts, and the MC is killing the solo with his blowup electric guitar.

You like to think of yourself as Mary Weis of the Shangri-Las, but really you're the lead singer of the Ramones.

You realize there are more men in your life than Joni Mitchell has suitors.

You can name only one woman you've hung-out with in the last week, but you could build three footballs teams.

The last time you went to a retail store, you were looking at hand-made leather suspenders, thinking how awesome you'd look with your pipe maker buddies at the local smoke den.

You identify the quality of clothes, by remembering the texture of your buddies' suits, fedora's and ties.

You have trouble sexting what you want to do to a girl, and you're panicked you won't reply fast enough, so your buddies rip a good 200 verbs off Urban Dictionary, and pre-plan all the various scenarios for how you should Top her.

You want to send nudes to a girl, but you're not sure what positions you should reply with, so your buddies reminisce their stories of the best nudes they ever received. The one with the most votes is the one you windup doing.

You know more about barber razors, hunting knives and multi-tools than a girl knows about cutlery.

Even though you have no care for motor-vehicles, you realize the number of times you've spent around your boys' cars, guarantees you're going to be working in shop ten years from now. Or rather holding the flashlight while drinking a beer, because no man wants to get his Lesbian dirty, whilst still getting the same paycheck.

You wake up one morning to find your house being cleaned by robots your LezBros built, so you can spend more time with them and less time cleaning.

All your road-trips are photos of you with boys at pubs, graveyards and historical war sites. Mostly pubs.

You go to wash the dishes after a house party, but the LezBros that worked in the food industry have already made the kitchen appear as if it were never used. Including the ceiling panels you couldn't reach, and the faucet drip your landlord was supposed to fix.

Your porch has mysteriously sprouted flowers overnight, courtesy of your manly florists ;)

Your boys have trained their dogs to herd women to you. "Such a cutie!" waddle waddle waddle, "Oh hi! I'm Sam!" Ten minutes later, "Oh, hello! I'm Katie!"

You've never touched a condom in your life, but you know if you needed one for a strap-on, you'd have more than four hundred men that would bring you an emergency girl-pack, which also includes lube, cigarettes and batteries.

You're completely unfazed seeing PlayBoy and Maxim. In fact, whenever you see them on your buddy's coffee tables, the first thing you do is thumb through.

99% of your Tumblr friends are men with lesbian blogs.

You see two men kissing and realize that's what it's like to see a unicorn. Then begin counting the number of unicorns in your life, and compare that to the number of lesbians.

"It's Raining Men" is no longer just a song, but the tag-line to your Wikipedia bio.

While you get molested by a girl in a dive-bar, your buddies stand there watching. You realize you know almost everyone in the crowd observing the activity.

You walk into Nordstrom's Men's department, and tell the Concierge you're taking a girl on a date and need help finding a black knitted tie. Suddenly all the men are helping you, including the customers, and they've tons of questions and suggestions for your date. LezBros recruited.

When asked what your occupation is, you say "I'm a Lesbian Erotica Writer." He says, "Really? Awesome! What's that like?" You reply, "Basically my company is what would happen if Playboy and Vogue had a baby. I have the best research ever. Dream job, NAILED." LezBro recruited, including any LezBros within a 14-foot radius.

You enter a hot pepper eating competition, and make all the boys cry while seeming unfazed. Only because a girl told you if you won, she'd kiss you, and you want to make sure she remembers that kiss. LezBro recruitment for winning the competition, double recruitment for the kiss.

You want terribly to be Topped by a girl, but you realize you've never been around a girl long enough to know how to be Submissive. Oops. You're a Lesbian Empress.