Well, it is the Fourth of July now, I imagine. Your friend Behr is just back from the Bavarian Forest in 1878 where I was trying to make contact with the trees at the moment they first attained full and total consciousness and began plotting the destruction of mankind in 2031. I have put a stop to that.
What happened is that your friend Behr and his fellow treeherders came upon an elven enclave where there was a conference of elves. Now, just like you, I have a great hatred of elves and want them all dead in the most cruel and bloody ways imaginable. We are the same in these feelings, you and I. This is why we are friends. You long to murder filthy fucking elves and you long very deeply to rip and tear at your genitals with a rusty X-Acto knife you found on the floor of a bus station bathroom just under the urinals. You and I have the same exact feelings on this, we long for it, we ache for it, and we will eventually have it because we are winners. We are always winning.
Now, the surprise here was that the elves did not repulse me. I was charmed by their strange, proto-Celtic ways, and the way they tended to the forest and how concerned they were about climate change and the dangers posed by climate change deniers. We played the lute, talked to a Norwegian treeherder named Lute, and then made love under the stars while the women made us dinner. I emerged with a new understanding of elves and their ways and we had a shared enemy, the scourge of climate change deniers and their money-grubbing heathen ways. We got drunk.
We would negotiate a truce, and I would end my war on the elves (I ask that you lay down your arms as well in this regard since we feel exactly the same way about elves, you and I). In return, they would keep the trees, because they commune with them, from destroying mankind in 2031. We had a deal.
Tonight for the Fourth of July, I will take a full and glorious shit, and then I will go out in search of the climate change denier supervan, which is how they get around making their money-grubbing speeches and using filthy homophobic rhetoric. I have to have that full and glorious shit prior to such an outing so my system is cleared out. On account of how much work I've done absolutely ripping and tearing apart my insides with items I've found around the house and auto mechanic type garages, this is necessary so I don't lose control of my bowels while chasing down the climate change denier supervan. That not only slows me down, having all that thick, lumpy turdmeal running down my thighs, but it is downright embarassing to be seen like that. Enough said. Possibly too graphic. They can roast me at this year's Daytime Emmy Awards.
Glad to be back home. Still looking for a good woman to take to bed and traumatize. Applications still being accepted at all Western Union telegraph offices.
Some blouse-wearing knob job was just at the door. I don't know what he wanted but he now has only nine fingers. Another will be taken if he comes here again while I am noding. I followed him up the road with no pants on, laughing like a hyena in order to humiliate him for his activities bothering people with his knob jobbery. Oh, and the neighbors did stare and laugh, but they are mostly woodland animals as I am hiding out from the FBI in a cabin in the woods outside of Utica, New York. A small city. Unique in many ways. Lame in many more ways.
I have begun reading Clyde's Compendium, which is a kind of condensed version of the fine, leather-bound 84-volume set The Anals of History. I am finding it to be excellent reading. What it is? You ask "What it is?" like it is 1975 all over again? What is wrong with you? Clyde's Compendium was written by Clyde Doofalls of New Jersey, who is a barfly severe alcoholic type who owns the full 84-volume set of The Anals of History and didn't have time to read it all, so he wrote down what he thought was pertinent and put it into this loosely organized history written mostly on napkins by a drunk in a bar. This is a fine tome. I can sell you a signed copy for 3 monthly payments of $275 payable through an uncancellable check in those amounts. This is the best deal you'll get outside of Amazon today although they have fresher vegetables in case you are one of those filthy fucking plant lovers like I am and who KNOWS FOR A FACT that the plants are more intelligent and reasonable than fucking animals. Pick up a copy today, send those checks (uncancellable) to the Western Union office in Utica.
One of my lesser known hobbies is one where I kidnap a creep off the street, bring him into my basement, tie him up, and give him powerful combinations of crazy drugs and convince him to devour himself raw. It is very appealing as an activity you can use to foster relaxation and the sense of inner calm the filthy fucking elves were talking to me about in the forest. Look into it. Ask about this and similar type hobbies at your local hobby store. If they look at you funny or make a "remark," remember two things: Repeat the question louder and with more assertiveness so they know you aren't playing around, and have a weapon on you so you can do some things TO the creep at the hobby store before you put him in the back of your van or pick-up truck and bring him home so you can do your hobby thing. The Good Lord does provide. Oh, he does, he certainly does. Praise Him.
I'll be there. Waiting for you. I want to traumatize you in a cabin under the stars. Consider this a gesture. A strong gesture.