National Zipper Day - Zip Thy Cosmic Trousers, Ye Buffoon!

Long ago, in the tea-stained margins of an uncharted star atlas, the universe suffered a slight wardrobe malfunction. The Great Cosmic Trousers — stitched from pure antimatter and the occasional slice of burnt toast — had split embarrassingly right across the seat of reality. At first, the breach merely leaked minor irritations like existential dread, soggy biscuits, and the poetry of accountants. But soon, bigger oddities began to slip through: talking trombones, inflatable ministers, and the occasional vengeful custard. The Ministry of Lopsided Umbrellas, already busy investigating the case of the Unauthorised Second Moon, summoned Poobah Grandious-McTwaddle to rectify the situation. He arrived armed with the only known relic capable of addressing such a calamity: the Sacred Zipper of Bafflington. A curious device rumoured to have been crafted by ancient seamstresses who could stitch logic itself into submission, given enough tea breaks. Unfortunately, the Sacred Zipper had ideas of its own. Every time the Poobah attempted to close the cosmic tear, a new absurdity exploded forth. Entire parliaments of disgruntled pigeons, philosophical cabbages debating causality, and once — most memorably — a small, well-spoken volcano named Derek. Undeterred, the Poobah deployed the traditional methods of the Wise: - He bribed the zipper with marmalade. - He sang it ballads in C-sharp minor (whilst juggling uncomfortable truths). - He even tried reverse psychology, telling the zipper it wasn’t important enough to fix the universe anyway. Nothing worked. The zip remained stubborn, half-fastened, flapping awkwardly in the cosmic breeze, exposing existence itself to the drafts of nonsense. Desperate, the Poobah hatched a final plan: he would unzip everything — the sky, the oceans, the governments, the invisible spreadsheets that kept socks from vanishing in tumble dryers — and then start again. One monumental zip. A universal fastening of All and Sundry. Legends say he is still trying. Some evenings, if you tilt your head precisely 37 degrees to the left and listen very carefully between the radio static, you can hear a faint “zrrrriiiip” noise stretching across the stars, followed by a soft, exasperated “Oh, bother.” Meanwhile, the sky remains only partially closed, secured with a combination of optimism, safety pins, and the weary patience of those who know some messes are simply too glorious to tidy up properly. And so we celebrate National Zipper Day not merely in honour of Sundback’s splendid fastening device, but in tribute to the noble fools — like the Poobah — who, armed with only questionable equipment and blind faith, keep trying to zip reality back together before it all flies apart once again. Tea and custard, naturally, are strongly encouraged.