"It'll be a Blast!"

After the nukes fuse all the major cities into glowing puddles of glass, the only creatures left will be cockroaches and Artisans.  And the ESTP Raiders will be selling cockroach crunchies. 

Yes, the Guardians may dig bunkers, the Idealists may self actualize, and the Rationals may go off to who-knows-where, but the Artisans will survive and thrive.  Now that school is permanently out and the 8 to 5 workday is abolished for good, the Artisans will be free to roam the radioactive wastelands hunting mutants, fighting zombies, and generally having the time of their lives.  This is their moment.  This is what they were made for.

Happily, many Artisans have spent their lives carefully preparing for the apocalypse by playing video games, particularly first person shooters.  People said, “Someday you’ll have to grow up and realize that real life isn’t a game.”  They turned out to be wrong, but it’s too late to prepare now, isn’t it?  N00bs.  While others are still figuring out which end of the gun makes bullets, the Artisans will be performing awesome moves on zombies and earning major experience points.  And when they’re not busy killing monsters, the Artisans will perfect their techniques of looting, attracting the opposite sex, driving too fast, and generally being a poor example for the youth.

Artisans have a weedlike ability to grow in environments where other types would curl up and die.  “Well, here we are in the middle of a desert wasteland, surrounded by vicious mutant cacti.  We might as well curl up and die,” the other types will say.  The Artisans, by contrast, will eat the mutant cacti, then make cool armor from the spines.

Of course, living on the surface does present some disadvantages.  For example, the more unfortunate Artisans will have their DNA damaged by radiation and become mutants.  Males will devolve into hideous bear-creatures with bloodshot eyes and monstrous fangs and claws.  They will spit acid and attack anything that comes within their nearsighted pig-like gaze.  Females will devolve into gorgeous babes and take to wearing bikinis to show off their athletic physique.  But they will still spit acid at anything in sight, except for male mutants, whom they will find devastatingly handsome.

But this is only one of the hazards of surface life.  Far worse is the cabin fever the Artisans will suffer as they wait in their bunker for the initial radiation to subside.  To entertain themselves, they will clean their weapons and crack jokes, but mostly they will gnaw on the ropes tied around them by their loving Guardian spouses to prevent them from hurling themselves against the door. 

Another hazard of surface life is the road system.  Since it will be populated almost entirely by Artisans (the Guardians preferring to remain safely in their small enclaves of law and order), the amount of accidents will increase twentyfold.  No one will observe a speed limit, unless said limit is the point at which the needle goes past the end of the red arc or the tires start smoking.  More Artisans will die in head on collisions than will be eaten by zombies.

The apocalypse will, however, be a good thing for the arts.  The mostly-Artisan surface population will express their creativity by singing, dancing, poetry, writing, and painting, these arts being combined to create the most spectacular graffiti the world has ever seen.  They will also make shapes out of bullet holes.  Every inch of rubble, every standing wall will become a canvas for the Artisans to paint their masterpieces upon.  In an ugly brown-grey world, such art will stir feelings of hope and courage, though the remaining Guardians will apply themselves vigorously to scrubbing it off in a vain effort to restore order.

Since the social fabric has been torn to shreds, Artisans will shrug and go back to the egalitarian hunting and gathering model that has served humanity so well for hundreds of thousands of years.  They will form groups of ten to a hundred individuals, mostly family groups, and wander the countryside looting and scavenging.  Naturally they will ride motorcycles.  The less than ideally developed Artisans will become brigands and bandits, and lone ISTP Vigilante warriors will have be found to deal with the scourge.  However, such predatory gangs will be the exception rather than the rule.  By and large the travelling bands of Artisans will be welcomed by the locals because they will exterminate all the monsters in the area and stimulate the economy.

While “in town” (as the Artisans will call the Guardian enclaves of law and order) the SPs will search diligently for a mate.  Since the Guardian to Artisan ratio on the surface will be about 1:10, there will be much competition in the dating game.  (Of course that's all part of the fun.)  The few lucky SPs who catch a Guardian will always have someone to clean up after them, bandage their wounds, feed them regularly, and keep them from wandering off on cross-continental treks.  In turn the Artisans will provide love, excitement, spontaneity and fun to the marriage.

Carefree, happy and bursting with powerful weaponry, the Artisans will exploit the apocalypse to the max.  When the radioactive dust has settled, they will joke amongst themselves, “Why didn't we destroy the world sooner?”  Why not indeed?