Lately I was extremely engrossed in personality letter types. I am an ENTJ. Now, we all know that's the best type. I was actually slaving over a novel about personality letters. It's a nonfiction book, deeply focused around the many types. I expect an award or two for it.
"Don't forget to create a works cited page," Eugene tensely reminded me. I shooed him with my gloved hand. My works cited were all my good companions, who would be interviewed about their diverse mbti experiences.
"ENFJs, very motherly, kind and nourishing," I said aloud as I typed.
"Hey, hey! I find that offensive!" Simon yelled, bouncing off my bed from where he had been napping. Ugh. So sensitive.
"Tsk. My knowledge is the best, fool," I scoffed. I was very narcissistic today. If I am correct, "N" stands for narcissist.
I would save most of my insults for Dwight's type, however. I really enjoyed harassing him. I paged through my 900 page mbti book, reading interestedly. There were many diagrams and explanations. How easily a single subject could overtake me. This was almost as bad as my zodiac obsession, when I got a now regrettable tattoo of an anime style ram to commemorate both my weebness and how Arien I am. I hate myself sometimes.
"M-Maggie chan!" I gasped. Maggie chan was an ENFJ! I quickly typed in "how to surgically change your mbti type". No solution. My self esteem dipped. I would never be like my Maggie chan. She was so different from me, by just one simple letter. Feeling, not thinking. I wiped a tear from my eye. I was worthless.
"I'm an ISFP," Dwight informed me like I cared. I pinched his flannel arm. Then, I strangled him. What a baka.
"Tell me about your mbti experiences," I said thoughtfully, rubbing my stubbled chin.
"I'm very manipulative, if I do say so myself," Simon chuckled.
"Hmm, interesting," I commented, nodding intelligently. I smoothly integrated that quote into my novel. 10/800 pages were completed.
"Negan, I feel very underrepresented," Eugene remarked. Ah yes, he was an INFJ. The most forgettable type of all. I quickly noted how underrated this poor community was. It was my duty as savior of TWD to bring up social marginalization.
Carl walked into my writing room. I was extremely interrupted. "Son, I thought I told you not to interrupt my writing sessions," I said firmly, yet kindly.
"Dad, I'm hungry," he stated. Ugh. So extreme.
"I thought Lucille was in charge of feeding you," I replied, folding my hands condescendingly.
"Dad, that's a baseball bat." I politely spat a diamond at him.
"I-I want ice cream," Carl whined, rubbing his eyes- or, eye- hungrily.
"I wAnT iCe CrEaM," Simon mocked. "Wait, I do too."
I posted a video of the debacle on musically. Ah, I had 12 followers. A record, if I do say so myself. I mostly posted romantic dance videos of me and Lucille, but sometimes I made really cool rap productions with Simon & D. I wanted to be someone Carl could be proud of.
"Your video, entitled 'Killing Spencie', has been flagged for graphic violence and taken down", a notification read.
"NO!" I hollered. That one was a gutsy hit!!!!!
"C'mon boys! Let's go harass the hilltop!" I yelled, slinging Lucille over my shoulder.
"Ugh," Dwight commented.
"Yes, genocide!" Simon cheered, packing away the machine guns and toxic gas. I gave him a karate chop on his egg-like head. We must be polite when harassing the innocent.
"B-But Dad, they don't deserve that," Carl protested.
For a second I suspected he was regaining his memories of not being my son, but when I looked into his deep, angsty teen eyes, I saw that he was merely concerned about the wellbeing of the weak. What a kind soul. He was truly taking after me, his kind father.
"Negan, I wanna stay home," Dwight mumbled, huddled on a chair with his beats on. Ugh, he was probably listening to my chemical black veil or whatever that emo band is.
"I need to update my severed head collection," Simon told me aggressively.
"Nasty, b*tch," I replied.
"Yes. It's time for me to visit my waifu, Rosita sama," Eugene bowed. All was ready. Time to go.
