This morning I was having sexual relations with a waxy substance I found on my kitchen counters when I began to feel some very turgid emotions moving through my body.

Let me explain.

Turgid emotions are one of the signs of an elven invasion being fully underway. They enter through a variety of interdimensional ways when they enter our dimension from the elven dimension. They enter through the toilet and through your bowels, through your ears, and come to exist in your children's Happy Meal. When they took Little House on the Prairie off television and ruined childhood for billions of children by doing so, THESE WERE THE CONSEQUENCES and we are paying the dues now. You can take that to the track and put it all down on a Trifecta. You've won, baby. You've won. Congrats!

"How hot do you have to be to get laid in this place?" was something I yelled out recently after participating in some speed dating at an early 2000s style nightclub I went to in Ithaca last weekend. Wish you could have been there.

After I got thrown out of the speed dating place because I told a woman I wanted to bite into her vagina hard enough to drawn blood, emphasizing in no uncertain terms that I was completely serious about that, I thought about going back in and stabbing everyone to death with the stabbing attachment for my X-Man type hand. Instead, I made a better choice, in part because of how having a motel table leg substituted for my human leg has impacted my dexterity in battle sequences. There were other reasons for making a better choice as well. I've been trying to make better choices.

I waited outside for someone to come out for a smoke and then stabbed them to death as a symbolic gesture before going to Target, which is a high end department store here in Utica. I wanted to see if they sold any devices that could measure emotional turgidity, as I felt my contextual emotional scale had been more turgid than usual. As I knew the elves were coming over, and that emotional turgidity is one of the signs they have breached, I wanted to be able to get a measurement of how turgid my emotions were so that I'd be prepared for the full scale invasion.

Someone had tied their dog out in front of the store, very close to the entrance. The dog was very yippy and yipped at me as I tried to walk past it. After a little bit of that, I picked up the dog and in a friendly way, strangled the life out of it and dropped it like a sack of flour on the ground. People needed to pay for their mistakes and dogs have no business on this planet anyway. They need to go back to their home planet and leave us humans the fuck alone. I can't emphasize this important point enough.

Yes, I am complicit with the elven invasion. I have ushered it in and have done that gladly. Nothing can stop it now, but we can remain aware of emotional turgidity in the meantime. Do you feel especially anxious, worked up, angry for no reason? The elves may be passing through your body on their way to devastating all life in our dimension with my full blessing. I think of murder, kidnapping, torture, and forcing old ladies to buy defective vaccuum cleaners at gunpoint as hobbies. They are victimless crimes that are nothing compared to illegal immigration and what that does to us as people. Guts us from the inside out. Absolutely guts us.

Let us now talk about emotional turgidity and selecting a device to use for the measuring of emotional turgidity. Walk with me now, your friend Behr, to whom you feel a great loyalty and a sort of mysterious passion you cannot look away from. Come. Walk with me now.

One of the reasons I went to Target to look for an emotional turgidity measuring tool was because of their reputation as an honest retailer. That is important to me, honesty in retail. I feel it is important to state that up front before I continue.

I asked a clerk where their non-scientific device section was and just got a confused look. I wrote down the clerk's name and vowed to have my revenge later for the slight. One has to assert themselves when insulted. Despite this setback, I began searching the store on my own until I found what I thought might be a device that could be used to measure emotional turgidity. It said it was an "Old time ice cream scoop" and came with a lever on the handle that moved a blade across the inside of the spoon, that supposedly allowed the ice cream to loosen and fall into the bowl. I knew the product had been mislabeled. It was definitely an emotional turgidity detector and it was the last one in the store. I had to buy it, but my assets have been frozen by the FBI ever since they found the mass graves on my property in Baltimore, so desperate measures were needed.

A large man with a long, unkempt beard and dirty clothes stormed in through the front door. It had to be part of the centaur vanguard, but it also provided the distraction I needed to get out of the store with my mislabelled emotional turgidity detector. Store security had gone to confront the centaur, whose hatred of humans was at peak levels as he began swinging a giant mace through the air, forcing store security to step back and call in their tactical unit. At that point it was fairly easy for me to slip out the front door without being noticed, even as somehow an alarm went off as I passed through the door with the gift I had given myself by circumventing the usual cash for goods exchange program employed in the United States and elsewhere to exclude the poor (and people who have had their assets frozen by the FBI) from what is enjoyable in life.

I had gotten very worked up and excited during the operation, and as such my emotional turgidity levels were doubtlessly through the roof. I needed to settle them down so that I could get a proper measurement of the emotional turgidity that was directly related to elven infiltration of our precious dimension. Your dimension, anyway, because I have sold you motherfuckers out like you wouldn't believe. I will enjoy watching you all burn.

And so, beloved friends, I decided to go to a bar to have some drinks in order to become more emotionally placid. I took a seat next to a guy I decided to call Pigeon because I didn't like his fucked up looking nose (and told him so in clear, plain language). He went to move away and I took the fork I'd been given with silverware (despite ordering only whiskey) and stuck it as hard as I could into the back of this motherfucker's hand. Then I pulled it out and did it again.

"Tell me when the nerve damage is severe enough to make your hand useless for the rest of your life," I told him as I kept stabbing him with the fork until I was ushered out of the bar by a large man who smelled like tuna and rotten eggs. 

That did nothing for stabilizing my emotional turgidity, and I would never, EVER forgive that guy for ruining my day like that. I spit on him as the paramedics rolled him out of the bar and into the back of the ambulance, but took off when I saw the police approaching. With my record, it is never a good idea to get questioned by the cops, even though I had clearly been in the right during the situation that transpired in the bar. This was a clear stand your ground type issue and if it weren't for my record I would doubtlessly get the case dismissed just by sighing at the judge.

Again, I was at a loss as to how to stabilize my emotional turgidity enough to ascertain the progress of the elven invasion. I thought I was out of options, but then I saw the signs for the world famous Utica Zoo and began hobbling in that direction on my motel night stand table leg that I had to substitute for my original appendage.

I was listening to the famous country song, Felt So Randy, Thought About Visiting a Chicken Farm as the familiar chorus came out of a nearby house. There was some kind of party or gathering going on in one of the houses in Utica's financial district and a lot of lights and music were coming out of it. Things looked very exciting, so I decided to go on in and join the fun. It would be just the thing to help settle my turgid emotions.

A young woman was drinking a wine cooler on the front steps, so I forcefully ripped it out of her hand before pinning her against the wall and telling her in no uncertain terms, "Don't try to stop me. I'm a noder. We are serious people and you don't want my whole noder tribe coming down on your lame ass like jacked lightning, DO YOU?" before letting her go and walking into the house with her former wine cooler. I'd established myself.

I was inside the house, picking up things and just carelessly letting them fall on the floor (establishing my superior status to the betas), when a young man walked up to me and got in my face. He said the woman I'd taken the wine cooler from was his girlfriend and he wanted to have some kind of a fight with me, despite my being homo superior and him being homo flaccidus. We were about to get into it when someone else jumped between us.

"Keep it cool, guys. It was just a wine cooler."

"He insulted my girl's honor!"

"Don't ruin the party. We finally graduated high school, so don't ruin it now."

"Yeah, fine, but this old guy..." The angry guy paused in his dialogue with good samaritan guy and turned towards me before saying, "What the fuck are you doing at this party, old man?"

"I'm trying to settle down my turgid emotions so I can determine the status of the elven invasion," I explained to him.

"Hey!" the angry man said to the crowd in a loud voice. "Whose senile old grandpa is this? Someone take him home!"

"Not my grandpa," someone yelled back.

"Anyone know where this crazy old man came from?"

I couldn't take the insult any longer and punched the angry boyfriend in the gut hard enough to explode his left kidney. It was long overdue for this asshole and I was completely in the right. You can look at the home security tapes from that night if you doubt me. My response was absolutely perfect. No one could have done it any better, not even General Obama.

It could have ended there, but then an avalanche of these young people jumped on top of me and began ripping my clothes, tearing at my flesh, and sticking their fingers in my eyes and mouth as I felt punch after punch delivered to my gut and face. I lost consciousness a few minutes later.

Tonight, I woke up in a dumpster in the parking lot of an International House of Pancakes outside of Rochester, New York. My emotions remain turgid as of this writing.

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