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The (stream of conscious?) venting thread for INTPs

527015 Views 10206 Replies 795 Participants Last post by  SouDesuNyan
I thought that we could use a thread like this. I know there is a "confessions" thread, but that's not quite the same, and we haven't had a proper "INTP Madness" thread (which is my reading of "stream of consciousness") since the crush thread and it's ill-begotten clones were banished to the Land of Winds and Ghosts (also known as Spam World).

So (copying from the original):

Take issue with something going on in society?

Having a bad day?

Have something on your mind that wont go away?

Experience something so fabulous you just have to express it?

Accidentally sold your mother to a pimp in a back alley game of poker?

Have an idea, or discover something so amazing you must tell everyone?

Post your vent (or experience, idea, etc.) here!

This thread is not for venting about other members, the moderators, or the forum.
Don't over-spam the thread (I can't expect INTPs not to spam a least a little) lest it be sent screaming into the spam-abyss.
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Latest idiotic personal theory: There's a correlation in countries between parliamentary governments and the prevalence of squat toilets. Causation remains unproven, but doubted.

And this thought occurred yesterday (it rained here): What if someone made a candle that smelled like wet dog? Better yet, a whole line of gross smelling candles? You might be asking "Who would buy that?" and "How would you make money at it?".
My reasoning: a)The concept has novel appeal. b) People are inclined to buy things that possess novel appeal at least once c) Therefore, people would buy my shit-candles at least once. So, if priced appropriately, with low overhead (outsourcing/child labor/both), I could turn a fairly reasonable profit.

It then occurred to me that I have no idea how candles are made or what causes wet dog smell. I researched both. The entire process would be pretty involved and difficult, which is okay because I have no intention of doing any of this.

Finally, prolly is not a word. It was never a word. The word that is making a slurred attempt to escape your plaque ridden toothless mouth or being typed with your feces incrusted finger is “probably”. That’s a word. That’s a real word. Use it, for when you say or type “prolly” you sound like a meth addict who lives in West Virginia with ’84 Camarro out back which may or may not be on cinder blocks.
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@RogueWave , I haven't seen many squat toilets here in Australia... or are you staing it's an inverse correlation?

When I was at art school, there was a girl who made a series of various gross soaps for her final work. There was an onion one, one with toenails... (it was transparent so you could see the bits). My mum bought the onion one (which was funny since the final year show wasn't an "art sale" sort of exhibition). So there might be a market for gross candles... At least my mum might buy one :crazy:

Gah! Prolly! This is one of those "I kill your face!" sorts of things people say, along with "irregardless", or "I could care less" (although this is more grammatical, don't they realize they're saying the opposite of what they mean?!).

Interesting that you pointed that out as I've thought of this too: Australia, along with the other Commonwealth nations, throws a major monkey wrench in my theory. I basically jumped to this conclusion based on France, Italy, and Germany. So I'm probably full of shit. The pun is not intended, but simply appreciated.

Tangential Side note: When I went to Australia I did and all sorts of cool stuff, and my favorite things were the Dual Flush Toilets. Someone was clearly thinking when they invented that thing. Speaking of when I was there, can you please tell me what this road sign means? I hope I can finally stop calling it the "sombrero crossing".
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We are somewhat frequently in danger of running out of water, so the dual flush was a pretty useful invention.

As for the signs, the middle is a speed hump sign and the recommended speed for going over it is below. As there is a crossing there too, I imagine it's one of the really wide humps with a zebra crossing on top of it.

So, sorry, no sombreros. It would be awesome though if it meant that this was a recommended place for a siesta (although in this case it would probably result in death or grave injury).

Which reminds me (the speed hump sign), I hate speed humps. Why can't I drive down the length of a street at a consistent speed (at or under the speed limit)? Why do I have constantly slow down and then speed up again because some morons think that some other morons might want to maybe race on that street sometime, maybe?
I think it would be a useful invention anywhere and I am surprised it isn't more prevalent in other countries. As Eco-friendly as "if it's yellow let it mellow" is, I find the concept of letting "my product" linger disgusting and somewhat reminiscent of a litter box. The dual flush is the perfect solution.

And I can finally rest at ease about that sign, thanks. Overall, how prevalent are speed humps in actual streets down there?

Here, they're in parking lots, and that's about it. Then again, we don't place a high priority on safety either.
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@Zombie Jesus , As much as I loved Australia, I definitely picked up on the "Mommy-Dearest" style of government.

When I rule the world speed limits will be cute suggestions and all tobacco products, alcohol, hard drugs, and firearms will bare the same sticker "This may kill you, you've been warned. Have fun and use responsibly". Actually that sounds like the US circa 1860. Screw world domination, I want a time machine.

Addendum: Everyone who uses the word "def", "totes", and "jelly" as in "jealous", as in "you're def totes jelly of my skilllzzzzzahh" Please don't. My head explodes and my face melts a la the Nazis at the end of Raiders of the Lost Arc.
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I'd vote for

[You > Obama > Bush] but < Clinton

haha my logic is pwnz

i had a girl say she thought she was "preggers" ... "what should I do???" in so many words

it is definitely not the issue for an INTP male to handle, especially when I'm still, months later, trying to wrap my head around the word "preggers"
"Preggers" = you blasted the womp rat, in so many words

I'm all for the evolution of language as long as the new developments are semi-intelligent sounding.

Like I no longer say "that's gay" to mean "that's stupid". I now say "that possesses a lively and merry disposition" and "that prefers the company of those of the same sex". That wooshing sound is this going over the heads of 95% I say it around.
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Stupid Sydney traffic! I hate that it takes me an hour or more to travel what would otherwise take 15-20 minutes outside peak hour. I just want to get home damn it! I like to imagine, while stuck in traffic, not moving, that I have some kind of x-men style telekinetic power, and I can just push the cars in front of me violently aside in a wave of shrieking metal and fiery chaotic destruction. Or that I could teleport. Although, this doesn't bring as big a smile to my face (my mental face. INTPs don't have physical smiling capabilities).
This is at it's maximum humor potential when read in Professor Farnsworth's voice.
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Right now, I'm on summer break, and working my summer job, which is working on a boat that takes customers fishing. If you ever want to hone your patients and social skills, get a job where you're confined to a small boat with six strangers for eight hours a day.

The rant: 1 out 7 people think fish, you know, the kind that live underwater, have [drum roll] . . . LUNGS!!!!!!!

When someone catches a fish, I give a stab behind the gill to puncture a major blood vessel just behind the heart. This bleeds the fish out, improving the quality of the meat.

Customer: You stabbin' him in the lungs?
Me: Sir, what kind of animal is that?
Customer: A fish.
Me: And sir, where does that fish live?
Customer: Well, underwater.
Me: Sir, you have lungs. Can you breath underwater?
Customer: No . . .
Me: So would it not stand to reason that this fish possesses some sort of other respiratory organ to acquire diffused oxygen?
Customer: What?
Me: Gills! They have gills! Ya know, the giant red frilly things attached to their head! They're not just for show.
Customer: Well, I'm not a biology major like you.

This is where I get off. I could point out that you don't need a college education with a focus on biology to know that fish have gills and not lungs. You need a first grade education to know that fish have gills and not lungs.
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Here's an interesting quote from Daniel Dennett: "Moreover, the eye contains a big flaw: the retina is inside out. Why would an almighty designer do such a thing?] No intelligent designer, ... would put such a clumsy arrangement in a camcorder, and this is just one of the hundreds of accidents frozen in evolutionary history that confirm the mindlessness of the historical process."

Now if I was a Creationist I would counter with the cloaca. It's one orifice, three functions. That's efficiency. God was clearly using his engineering prowess on that one.
No Evolutionist ever expects the cloaca!

Now I feel as if there should be a masked Creationist superhero called "The Flying Cloaca"
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This is my celebrity archenemy Andy Rooney.

I hate him. "Have you ever noticed how people don't wear pocket watches anymore? I guess people are just too good for pocket watches these days. And those bikes with the big wheel on the front-" Shut the fuck up Andy!

He doesn't know this, but in the distant future we will meet on a sun scorched and smoldering battlefield. Our respective forces will clear and it is just him and I. I charge the great Rooney, bronze blade drawn, and in one deft blow I sever the beast's head containing it's shriveled, vestigial brain. As the mongrel dogs of war tare apart his stocky leprechaun body, I lift his head skyward by that stupid tuft of white hair so that the Gods may see what I have done. With my face contorted with feral elation I let forth a great Xena war cry. I am sacred in my profanity. I am righteous in my vindictiveness. I have done the Gods' work and they are pleased.

This vision has appeared before me. It will happen. It is my destiny. Sarah Palin and Nancy Grace, you're next.
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I can't help thinking that someone being a contrarian for its own sake, that is, taking unorthodox views simply because they are unorthodox, is completely ridiculous.
A few years ago I was watching a show on the moon landing conspiracy theory. They had the perfect label for what these people do, "cultural vandalism". It's essentially being a troll.

What stands out in my mind the most was this old hick guy who claimed that the thrusters of the lunar lander would have made a crater. In all footage and photography of the lander, there is no visible crater, therefore the landing never actually happened. To demonstrate this, he blew a gravel pile with his leaf blower and made a crater. Now if that doesn't reek of scientific validity, I don't know what does.

It becomes difficult when someone you know believes these things. Like my grandma is convinced the Holocaust didn't happen.
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@luxurieux Your high school sounds scarily similar to how mine was with all the "senior project" and "graduation by proficiency" bullshit. I used to call it "graduation by sufficiency" to piss off the administration because the school didn't want you to be the best, they wanted you to just be good enough. Damn "No Child Left Behind".

I coped with it by saying what was on everyone's mind, getting into public arguments with teachers, instigating rebellions against assignments, making snarky one liners in the back of the room, writing joke reflection papers, etc.

We even had to fill out a technology request sheet for what we needed for the actual presentation. I requested an LCD projector, pyrotechnics, a dancing bear, a fog machine, and a mariachi band. I was lucky they gave me the LCD projector.
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No disco ball? How could you?!
I ran out of room. I could of squeezed it in on the back, but that would have been just silly and unprofessional.
TV news text: "Cyndi Lauper messed up Star-Sp Banner, ironically in the same place as Christina Aguilera." That's not irony, you twits!

What's the point of expressions like "I don't mean to brag but . . . " or "I don't mean to be rude but . . . "?

These expressions always preface a statement that is strongly demonstrative of the thing I supossedly "don't mean" to do. "I don't mean to brag" is a social signal that I'm about to brag. "I don't mean to be rude" is a social signal that I'm about to be rude.

Instead, I want to start prefacing my controversial comments with "I'm about to say something incredibly insenstive, harsh, demeaning, generalist, and most likely offensive. It is my suggestion that overly sensitive persons cover their ears, lest they enter a histrionic fit." It doesn't exactly roll off the tongue but it is more accurate and honest than "I don't mean to be rude". Because I do mean to be rude, and so has everyone else who has ever used the expression.

Related to this is "correct me if I'm wrong". This has never been used by someone who has thought themselves incorrect. Quite the contrary, they're usually conviced that they're right. So they should say "You're wrong, I'm right, I'm now going to impose my rightness on you by force, but wish to do so under a transparent guise of humility".

For the record, I have not, cannot, and will not, understand people.
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After today I've realized that I hate "boy scouts". And I don't mean boy scouts as in the youth organization that serves as a petri dish for conservatism (I mean, I hate them too, but for a whole different array of reasons).

I mean "boy scouts" as in those do-goody, aw-shucks, by the book, ass kissing,sycophantic twat waffles who eagerly serve as the butt boy to whatever institution they find themselves a part of.

They're the kid who reminds the teacher we had homework.
They're the kid who lobbies for the early due date.
They're the kid who tells the teacher RogueWave swore.
They're the kid who tells the teacher that some kids are using size 14 periods in their otherwise 12 pt Times New Roman paper.

The boy scouts have never known this, but every time they have decided to be a hero in my presence, they have had a near death experience. The only things they owe their lives to is the presence of eye witnesses and my inability to make it look like an accident on so short of notice.
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Dear ESFP wife: how can you possibly come to understand that the (sincere) question "how are you?" is invasive to me?
I could contract ebola, lose a family member, shoot my own rabies stricken dog, and survive some variety of zombie apocalypse all in one day and I would still answer "how are you?" with "fine".

Here's a related scenario:
Me: Hey how are you?
Rando Calrissian: Ah well, you know I woke up late this morning and then-
Me: Oh, woah, woah there killer! That was a greeting, NOT an actual question. Truth be told, I could not actually give a fuck how you are. Sorry. Actually no, no I'm not.

I need to send a mass e-mail to everyone I know that says something to the effect of: "all social mores and protocols that you observe me exhibiting are a highly superficial act that I would prefer not to perform, but feel obligated to do so in order to operate in society under a thin guise of normalcy. If I were to abandon this act and instead exhibit the behavior that is true to my nature I would most likely by hanged, burned, murdered, or condemned to an existence as a pariah.
-Have a nice day (not really)"
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Someone here is bound to disagree with me, but . . .

Ever since Steve Jobs died I have been astonished by the number of people who have become so thoroughly indoctrinated into his cult of personality. Some fairly intelligent people are saying things like "he was the Edison of our time" and "he was a true innovator".

He wasn't really. Jobs' true legacy is in marketing and design. In those two fields he was undoubtedly a master.

It's not a computer. It's a Mac.
It's not an MP3 player. It's an iPod.
It's not a smartphone. It's an iPhone.
It's not a tablet. It's an iPad.

And what happens with all these things is that Apple's name brand becomes synonymous with the device itself. If someone whips out a Droid, and you see it from a distance, you'll probably call it an iPhone. If someone whips out a Torch, and you see it from a distance, you'll probably call it an iPad.

It's like how some people down South call all soda "coke" (granted, much of this probably has to do with the fact that they have two teeth and a matching number of brain cells)

Or it's not an SUV, it's a Jeep.

But what happens with brand recognition this strong is that when looking to purchase a new device, people don't research alternatives, they just buy Apple's. Because there are no more "tablets" and "smartphones". There are only "iPads" and "iPhones". At least this Apple's intention, and it does work on many, many, people. Not all, but many.

And back to the cult of personality. Gates and Jobs are exceptionally similar people.
They are both tyrants, mongers of materialism, and corporate pimps.

The difference is Steve Jobs, through a smoke and mirror show reviling that of the Wizard of Oz, spun a public image that was an unlikely collage of hippie, Randian hero, and everyman. Which is, of course, bullshit.

Sorry for the rant. This was all prompted by me reading a comment on one of the "Think Different" clips.

"i dont know how come you understand this video to be about computers. its about innovation, thinking outside the box, THINKING DIFFERENTLY. just like Steve Jobs did"

Uh, it's about computers because it's a fucking COMMERCIAL and that's what they're SELLING! And they're selling it through the promise of making you, the consumer, unique and creative. But the thing about uniqueness and creativity is you either have it or you don't. You can't buy it. Sorry.

PS, re: the "Think Different" ad campaign, there is no way in HELL, that Gandhi would have owned a Mac.
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I hope some of you can give me some insights in this situation...

I've been flirting with a girl for months. A year, actually, I think. And it's been so ridiculously confusing. I have a very bad crush on her. Whether or not I had a nice conversation with her really influences my mood for the whole day. It's crazy.

Now the thing is, she changes her attitude so much toward me I feel like I'm on an emotional rollercoaster. One day we'll be playing footsie and she'll give me that special type of 'gaze' in my eyes, and smile, poke me in the back and ask me how my day was and whatnot... And the other day she'll act completely cold towards me, making me feel like I've done something very wrong. She'll be laughing with friends and whatnot, and as soon as I get within a certain radius she'll act all... passive-aggressive and shit. Or when I walk past her and say hi she'll just give me this "what the fuck are you doing I have nothing to do with you, man."-look... Then the next day she'll walk by and smile at me or playfully tease me with something.
My NFJ sense is tingling. (That's not a euphemism, nor is my NFJ sense in my pants)

Given the presented information my current theory is that this whole thing started off as casual flirting to make the day go by faster and then due to the extensive period of the interaction (1 year) she has managed to grow on you and this is no longer just casual flirting from your perspective. How correct am I, if at all?

It's so fucked. I don't know what to do. Confronting her with this will probably only make me look like a weird overthinking creeper so I don't think I should do that...
See here's the thing, you're going to look like an overthinking creeper because that's what you are. As a matter of fact, you've posted this in the "overthinking creeper stream of consciousness thread". Unfortunately, I don't know what you should do. But you need to do something. A year is long time for this sort of emotional purgatory, and I have the distinct inclination that this is going to get worse before it get's better if left on its current trajectory.

Some days it just seems super obvious there's a mutual interest, and people will ask if she's my girlfriend and shit, and the other day it seems like she just thinks I'm an asshole.
When you get comments like this from tertiary parties, you at least know you're not imagining things. Other people see it too. My personal favorite is "you guys act like you're married" :rolleyes:

And this is something I've been meaning to tell you for a while, based on your posts, I'm fairly certain you and I were separated at birth.
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Don't you want to be successful?

I hate that question. And I hate it primarily because I don't know what people mean by "successful". In fact, I'm fairly certain that they have never taken the time out to consider what it is they mean by the word either. But I think I've figured it out:

· “It starts in college. You decide to pursue something 'worthwhile'. You've never vocalized your definition of the word 'worthwhile' but based on context clues it roughly equates to 'a degree for a career in which you make a lot of money and carries a title that automatically impresses people when you tell them (lawyer, MBA, doctor, pharmacist, accountant, etc)'. You enter this field. You claim you like what you do, but you don't really. As a matter of fact you don't really care for your co-workers and you work far too many hours.

Your primary hobby is sitting in a room with a large group of people you don't really know or care for. This is made tolerable and fun with artificial excitement. Sometimes it's drinking, sometimes it's eating, and sometimes it's something else. The reality is you live a passionless existence as a person who thinks or cares little about anything.

You are now approaching 30. You have a major chip on your shoulder about being single. In your travels you run across someone who isn’t perfect, but good enough. They’re fun; they entertain you. Despite your rather shallow affections for this individual, you enter with them a marriage of convenience.

You buy a Range Rover and move to some whitebread suburban shithole in New Jersey. And why not? You make ~ $100,000 a year. Oh that’s right, you racked up over $400,000 in debt due to student loans, but you conveniently ignore that fact, as you often do when it comes to uncomfortable trains of thought.

Now he knocks her up and she squeezes out two kids. So in addition to your jobs, the artificial excitement, and the asshole ‘friends’, you now have the kids to distract you from one another.

The kids turn into two teenage monsters who hate the both of you. This is because you tried to be cool and be your kids’ friend rather than be a parent like they needed. Your son’s a douche bag and your daughter’s a ditz who’s a little *ahem* ‘well used’.

The two of you are now well into your forties. She’s had two plastic surgeries and tells herself that ‘forty is the new thirty’ or some other meaningless bullshit she heard on The Today Show. He’s starting to lose his hair a little, which he hides with this strategic haircut and up-comb, ignoring the fact that he’s forty-five, married with kids, and no one’s looking at him anymore anyway. Neither addresses the fact that trying to look young as you age is like shoveling shit against the tide and it all turns to dirt in the end regardless of the attempts to curb the process. Remember: you ignore uncomfortable trains of thought.

You notice these things about yourself, and once the douchebag and douchebaguette go off to college, you notice these things about each other. You claim that ‘you no longer love them’. The fact of the matter is you never really loved them. Remember ‘fun’, ‘entertaining’ and ‘marriage of convenience’? Well your spouse is no longer ‘fun’, they sure as hell aren’t ‘entertaining’, and the marriage is now anything but ‘convenient’.

Get a divorce? Pffft. How pedestrian. He’ll start an affair instead. The object of his lust is some young chick who likes to engage in artificial excitement and he sees every day anyway. In other words, she’s fun, entertaining, and convenient.

She grows suspicious. He’s different. He’s hardly home. She goes Nancy F. Drew on his ass and eventually uncovers the whole the shit storm and confronts him about it. Now you get the divorce. He now pursues the relationship with his mistress full time. Eventually he claims that ‘he doesn’t really love her anymore’ (sound familiar?), and that relationship shrinks and withers away like a lizard cock in the Alaskan night.

The two of you now live separate lives, although develop a rather strange and sad friendship that is bound together through feelings of loneliness, as well as dissatisfaction with your respective life courses. You engage in artificial excitement with lesser and lesser frequency. What is convenient is no longer fun and what is fun is no longer entertaining.

Actually, you don’t find much of anything entertaining anymore. The symptoms of depression that you have ignored your whole life have now come to the forefront. Your existence and spirits are kept aloft solely by a medley of antidepressants and cholesterol medications. You wander aimlessly until that day comes when it all does finally turn to dirt, as was promised earlier.”

Well, I may not be 100% certain about what I want out of life, but I know I don't want that. Nor is that how I define "success".
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First day of the second semester, and I get to hear the most grotesque and repugnant words in the English language "okay, now we're going to do an ice-breaker activity"

--*bitch, I don't-wanna-do an ice-breaker, let's keep the ice intact, I like ice, I'm an icy kinda guy, think of the mothafuckin polar bears where they gonna eat with no ice? they're gonna be pillaging Canadian dumpsters and eating Canadian babies, and I can't have that shit on my conscious, so let's not break the ice*--

At the onslaught of the sentence I already knew what was coming, but still when the words "ice-breaker" were uttered time slowed to a crawl as I let out a barely audible "fuck me". I loathe talking about myself with an unbridled passion that is unrivaled in its acuteness.

"State your name and tell something about yourself"

"My name is RogueWave, and I drove a car here" This didn't kill the ice-breaker, but it noticeably slowed it down a little by sucking some of the superfluous enthusiasm out of the room. I'm like a speed-bump on the highway of human relations.
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