Salutations, irritating ninnies! Last time we left you were set to make and market magical trousers to aid the world at large in improving the line of their buttocks and their cashflow. This occult apparel was to be based on a prototype worn by you yourself, gifted by a passing stranger (with beautiful buttocks) that has since disappeared from your life, as everyone does. Said garment produces the illusion of a comely posterior and the prestidigitatorial manifestation of cash in the pocket. Pennies from Heaven, as it were and bestowed by yourself upon a naughty and undeserving world. What a doer of good deeds you are, my tiny turnips!
Thus, armed with a silver propelling pencil, a ruler, a razor sharp pair of scissors and sheets of tracing paper, you study the very pants you're wearing in an attempt to make a pattern for them. But what's this? Gadzooks! Mischievous Mercury is in perverse reverse, grappling obscenely with grim Saturn so everything keeps going wrong! You can't get your ruler at the proper angle! Eek! You mishandle your propelling pencil and make a nasty stain upon your person, forcing you to seek emergency ablutions! Ugh! And, to top the whole thing off, you cut yourself with your scissors, a laceration requiring immediate medical attention! Aargh!
A Full Moon comes in cloddish Taurus and, in sheer exasperation, you fill the air with polyglot obscenities such as 'quel dommage', 'et tu brute' and 'golly gosh'. But, by my sainted aunt, that is not the end of the travail! Vamping Venus gropes narcotic Neptune and you can't get the material you want and have to take second best. Then, as mischievous Mercury also takes a swipe at the mystic one (Neptune), you find you can't get the seams straight and decide to return the fabric. On doing so, the shop assistant refuses to accept the return and tells you that it is your fault because the tension on your sewing machine is not correct. An argument ensues, in the course of which you hurl the fabric to the counter, utter several further (and more colourful) foreign expletives and stalk out, frustrated with your inability to make the magic pants as planned. And yet, the line of your buttocks seems to improve with each step you take in your own trousers for the buzz of commentary in the streets grows louder as you pass. In fact, your eye-catching posterior attracts salacious remarks and improper sexual advances.
After a severe technical examination on the matter of personal hygiene, you select a congenial and well-trained house guest from the admiring ranks, just as vamping Venus clatters her way into silly Sagittarius. However, the failure to make a proper pattern for the pants still perplexes. After dalliance of some intensity but little variation, you bid your house guest 'farewell' by changing the locks and sally forth to seek out a psychic to scry the mysteries of trousers and the future.
As mischievous Mercury goes direct, you have a reading with a foul-mouthed occultist. In amongst the flood of arcane obscenities, the creature intones, 'who would make the magic trousers must seek the crack of doom'.
Odds bodkins! Like a virgin in a trance, you pay the tab and walk into the street, ensorcelled by the power of the New Moon in evil Scorpio. You know now what to do! You will go to the well of knowledge, the nearest library. There you will find books upon the subject of the 'crack of doom'. In no time at all with the use of your borrower's card, you're ensconced at home, reading THE CRACK OF DOOM FOR DUMMIES, THE IDIOT'S GUIDE TO THE CRACK OF DOOM and THE CRACK OF DOOM! IS IT FOR REAL? As the great Sol Invicti and jolly Jupiter grapple their way into silly Sagittarius, you become learned in the confines of your lounge room, compiling a list of abstruse references connecting the legendary crack of doom with trousers. You pay particular attention to the words 'pocket', 'cuff', 'lining' and 'seat'. But everything you read seems to imply the existence of some deeper mystery, one that can't be fathomed from afar.
As mischievous Mercury plays roly-poly with narcotic Neptune and marauding Mars batters the private parts of grim Saturn, you decide you will no longer sit upon the couch, reading of the 'crack'. Nay! Instead, you will set out on a wild adventure, travelling to the legendary realm where this unsung wonder of the world is said to be. You pack clean clothes, the requisite changes of underwear and a selection of useful items, including a Swiss Army Knife and the ancient map that will guide you to the crack itself. Egad, tiny virgins! How intrepid and courageous!
But you must ask yourself, in seeking the crack, will you find the doom as well, as you struggle in desolate places to locate public conveniences that are clean, tidy and fit for use? Only time will tell, surface-wiping loonies! But for the nonce, the sands have run out. Click here next time for a further episode of this excruciating saga entitled UNDIES UP THE CRACK OF DOOM. Ave, ghastly gherkins!