OOOOhh, that's a thought; corner the market on goat deodorant. nah, damn

The marijuana coloured smoke drifted in a languid haze over the close cropped hair of the
giraffe as he crossed the meadow on his way to return the purple pants that he had borrowed
for the fancy dress party to one Mister Upshot, the gray-green elephant, of BagEnd Lane, Number 452.

As Mister Langfield, said giraffe, was waltzing across the meadow (he always fancied himself a great dancer) he over heard two of his fellow animals discussing the nature and occurrence of rain. The animals in question were one Misses Hippopotamus and one Mister Llama.
Mistress Hippo first posed the question and it ran something like this: 'Does rain really come from buttercups that have gone before or does it come from something else?'
Mister Llama's reply, after what seemed like a great deal of thought in as little time as possible, went thusly: 'Rain, that blessed water that comes from the sky to soak the clothes left on the line too long and causes Misses Llama's hair to frizz up like some great big ball of tangled string, comes from Sprites (the annoying little fairies not the soda) that have spontaneously combusted high up in the atmosphere.  One can just picture them flying just a tad too high when-POP!-with a sound like a water balloon exploding, the Sprites combust in a shower of brightly coloured sparkling water drops. Alas, poor Tinkerbell I knew her well. I didn't like her but...'

And so the conversation ran long into the night, that is until Misses Llama, looking like a ball of tangled  string (it had rained during the day-damned Sprites), came to inquire as to why her husband was still out and about at such a late hour. If she hadn't this on going discourse into the nature an origination of rain might have lasted for weeks. These conversations often did when Misses Llama went home to visit mother.

But enough of that for now. Back to the pants! the pants you see were quite interesting, they were made out of a new space age material; not really, but anything with "space age" in it sells faster. The same holds true if you offer it for only a limited time at nineteen-ninety-five. Anyhow, these miraculous pants, according to the vast squad of researchers and marketers and 'scientists' that appeared on the infomercials, enabled the wearer to be irresistible to members of the opposite sex of not the same persuasion. A committee was formed to investigate if there was any truth in this claim, but for some unforeseen reason the committee of mixed gender has yet to leave their Happy Trails Hotel rooms. This caused quite a stir amongst the local gossips and it is still talked about over back fences while the ladies of the neighborhood are waiting for their clothes to dry after they have been left out in the Sprite induced rain storms.

These short rain storms (short because there has never been a tall Sprite) often played havoc on the 'space age' material, mainly because it was dry clean only, but seeing as how dry cleaning hadn't been invented yet (science had yet to  invent a way for things to be cleaned with dehydrated water) the pants were often cleaned with the aid of washing machines, or as they are more often called servants (or women-the two seemed to be interchangeable). The material in question would often shrink or just plain run away from the water and frequently had to be chased down by the local constabulary. The law enforcement officials had even installed a special phone number that people could call to report the vast stampedes of pants on washing day. Since washing day usually fell on a Wednesday (except in leap year when people were too busy jumping up and down) the police had a special task force created especially for the express purpose of hunting down an capturing the pants. People rarely had to call this special number because the police were already out and about tracking down their own pants. There is nothing quite as pathetic as a naked police force.