Fiction or Non-Fiction: The Big Reveal

A fortnight and two days ago (Abraham Lincoln is my inspiration), I asked you to tell me whether a certain situation I posted actually happened. Or, in the parlance of the kids on the street these days or maybe not these days but days from a couple of years ago (I’m still trying to keep up! oh! kids these days!), a sitch that actually went down. In case you had not yet exited your mama’s womb at the time of the original post or you took a time travel train to 1974 and have been hiding behind a wall like Bad Ronald or this is your first time here (in which case, WELCOME!), you can find the situation/sitch and its accompanying poll by clicking right here and being taken there by magic.
Fifty-five votes were collected (in tiny specimen cups, often with the assistance of a magazine rack overflowing with monthly periodicals boasting full-cover anatomical displays of all varieties of portals, apertures, and fleshmounds known to mankind), yielding the following breakdown:

37 voters (67%) thought that Yes, I know some real shmucky.
18 voters (33%) thought that No, I know no one this shmucky.

The minority wins! Although I do know some real shmucks, some incredible shmucks, some shmucks so shmucky that they could be called supershmucks if only there were such a word, but since there’s not, they will just have to be referred to as Republicans (zing!), those with whom I am associated are not associated with the dialogue in question.
In other news, unrelated, after training for years to do my food-shopping via telepathy, I am pleased to report that today’s maiden voyage was a semi-success. I did manage to get the shopping done while lying in bed, but instead of hearing “peaches”, my telepathy yielded “leeches”, which, although useful in their own right do not make for quite as refreshing an afternoon snack.