The Dreaded S

Thank you, you know who, for reminding me of our personality category masters...

However, the Meyers-Briggs is almost a total sham. It mostly tells us what awful people we are while sugar-coating the ugly facts with pathetic flattery.

I took the test in college, where I learned I was an INFP...

"Quiet, reflective, and idealistic. Interested in serving humanity. Well-developed value system, which they strive to live in accordance with. Extremely loyal. Adaptable and laid-back unless a strongly-held value is threatened."

Just tell it how it is...

"Meek, slow, and delusional. Interested in believing fantastic errors of logic. Closed-minded and intellectually stunted. Dependent on pandering to others. Floundering and lazy unless frightened, which happens easily."

Then, about 5 years later, I took it again, where I learned I was an ENTJ...

"Assertive and outspoken - they are driven to lead. Excellent ability to understand difficult organizational problems and create solid solutions. Intelligent and well-informed, they usually excel at public speaking. They value knowledge and competence, and usually have little patience with inefficiency or disorganization."

Huh? But still, tell it how it is...

"Narcissistic and intolerable - they are driven to unyielding social domination. Excellent ability to manipulate people into doing things they don't want to do. Ruthless with a small cache of useful, superficial knowledge, they usually excel at pissing people off. They value nothing worthwhile, and have no patience for people they can't easily exploit."

I am a miserable human being indeed on both fronts, so is every other INFP/ENTJ. But, there is one thing I am not. There is one thing so vile and contemptible, even I am not capable of flirting with its sick, twisted sensibilities. Yes, I am referring to the unholy "S."

If the Meyers-Briggs were good for anything, it would be the identification of all human lizards capable of scoring the S. Anyone with an S in their type profile is dangerous, unpredictable, even lethal. S stands for "Sensing," but should stand for "Specimen," or "Sociopath," or "Sheep," or "Serial Puppy Killer." Don't worry, the true S wouldn't be the least bit offended by any of thes characterizations, but delighted. They do not feel as you and I do. Yes, the dreaded S senses everything, but feels nothing at all.

If there were anything special or worthy of reverence in this god-forsaken planet, the S would shun it, shit on it, and string it up. An S type, even the pathetic ISFP, is to be feared, for they are all relentless, efficient cogs in the grand machine churning to rip you to shreds for any technicality, no matter how trivial. They are soulless beasts who seek the Achilles heel of the most capable and honorable, then slice it with their nail file and pretend not to notice. Or maybe they don't notice. I don't know. Maybe they don't even know they are doing it. But, one thing is certain: these vile creatures must be stopped, or they will pulverize humanity in the endless meat grinder of technicalities until every last one of us has conformed to their numb, heartless excuse for an existence.

For an S, 1+1 cannot =3. Never. But, 1+1 can =2#&$@&*. It must! IT MUST! THERE IS NO OTHER WAY! And, that is why you can use them to incinerate millions of innocent people. Ss worked well for Hitler. They are the primary target of all demagogues and tyrants. To their credit, they are never the tyrants themselves. Never. But, if not for the S, the tyrant could never gain power in the first place. To an N, no argument can possibly win from the mouth of a raving, psychotic lunatic, no matter how self-evident. Ns detect that insane, freakish lust for power beaming from the frantic eyes of the possessed dictator. He is an obvious nut job. His is so easily dismissed as a man owned by fear, acting through terror on behalf of nothing but his own preservation. On the other hand, the S, incapable of comprehending his motives, and, believing 1+1=2#&$@&* because there is no other choice, is vulnerable to his arguments. To an S, there is no raving, flailing lunatic, just plain and simple facts placed neatly one-beside-another, just like the corpses stacked in pits next to rows of people being systematically executed–their limp bodies flopping over like sardines to be bulldozed over. They have hallowed this ground–those limp sardines–not us.

To use a timely metaphor, in the intellectual/philosophical/political world, the S will joyfully drill miles through bedrock to suddenly rupture a deep oil field under intense pressure, thus releasing an unstoppable flow of viscous grime, poisoning the world with fire, darkness, walking fish, and noxious fumes. It is always up to the Ns to plug the damn hole, usually after many irresponsible attempts including golf balls, rubber scraps, and miscellaneous refuse.

With that, I give you the plain and simple truth regarding the S, the scourge of the universe and the bane of our existence. May Ns use their power to give us nitrogen beer widgets rather than human fertilizer.