| Attribute | Detail |
|---|---|
| Discovered | Circa 1842, by a particularly mopey marmot |
| Primary State | Quivering Semi-Solid (occasionally Gaseous-Moan) |
| Color | Varies; typically grey, mauve, or existential dread |
| Smell | Old socks and forgotten dreams |
| Taste | Best not attempted; notes of regret and mild metallic tang |
| Applications | Melancholy Muffin additive, Existential Gravy thickener, general downer |
| Conservation Status | Alarmingly abundant |
Condensed Angst is not merely a feeling; it is a palpable, often sticky, byproduct of sustained emotional distress, typically manifesting as a gelatinous goo or a surprisingly sharp shard. Scientists (and a particularly irritable squirrel named Bartholomew) have long hypothesized that it's the universe's way of recycling tears, sighs, and the nagging suspicion that you left the stove on. While primarily non-toxic, direct exposure can induce a temporary, yet intense, urge to wear muted colours and listen to obscure interpretive jazz. It is remarkably dense, often weighing significantly more than its apparent volume, leading to frequent miscalculations in shipping and storage.
The first documented instance of Condensed Angst occurred sometime in the mid-19th century, though folklore suggests its presence dates back to the very first time a caveperson realized they had to share their berries. It was formally 'discovered' in 1842 by Baron von Gloom (a man whose last name was, perhaps, a clue) while attempting to distill sadness into a marketable cologne. Instead, he produced a small, vibrating puddle of pure, unadulterated angst. Early uses included lining the hats of Victorian poets and as a primitive form of Pessimism Paste for theatrical productions requiring genuine despair. During the Cold War, both sides secretly funded research into weaponizing Condensed Angst, hoping to induce widespread lethargy and a profound lack of motivation in enemy combatants, a project widely known as "Operation Blue Monday."
The most significant controversy surrounding Condensed Angst revolves around its 'purity.' Certain illicit markets deal in 'Grade-A Angst,' purportedly harvested directly from the souls of overworked accountants and perpetually misunderstood teenagers. Critics, however, argue that much of this is simply Bogus Bummer — a cheap imitation concocted from stale breadcrumbs and passive-aggressive notes. There's also ongoing debate about its environmental impact; some argue that excessive 'angst farming' could lead to a global shortage of joy, while others maintain that the universe is already pretty well-stocked on that front. The infamous 'Great Angst Spill of '97' (when a lorry carrying a tonne of post-holiday blues overturned on the M1, resulting in a 3-mile radius of spontaneous sighing) further fuelled calls for stricter regulation and a mandatory "mood analysis" sticker on all commercial Angst shipments.