Rifled Buttocks

Long-time readers will already be aware of my many apparel-based grievances, such as my blood-sucking shoes and those ever-disappointing handbags, but today I’d like to discuss an issue that both annoys and intrigues me; that of the rifled buttocks.

This phenomenon only occurs when wearing a tightish skirt with little or none of the slidey slippage sewn within that I now realise is vital to the successful snug-skirt wearer. What happens, each and every time, is that the damned thing starts to revolve around my bottom in a clockwise direction as soon as I walk. Well, it’s clockwise to my point of view – it depends on where you’re observing the motion from, I suppose. I have the bird’s-eye view of course. Should anyone manage the rare feat of manoeuvring themselves into a position where said motion appears to be anti-clockwise from their perspective, very well done to them, but prepare for a slap licketty-split.

Anyhoo, back the unwelcome revolution of the aforementioned. I swear I can’t take more than twelve steps before the seams have crawled round to the left and the splitty bit at the back is halfway round my right leg. It’s always the same clockwise direction without fail, though for all I know it would be anti-clockwise were I to cross the Equator. God knows what would happen were I to straddle the Equator. One dreads to speculate.

Doubtless this consistent right-to-left activity is a result of my extreme rightiness, by which I mean a physical bias towards overdevelopment on my right hand side, not a worrying tendency towards fascism, though some would maintain I’m guilty of that too. For example, you may recall a previous reference to my long right arm, which juts out from jacket- and coat sleeves a good inch and a half further than my left; my hairier right leg (no sniggers, please) which requires rather more attention from Ma Venus than the left; and my larger right bosom, which is particularly curious given that my chestal area is largely the work of a third party who clearly decided it was best to maintain my natural starboard-side freakishness. Thanks Doctor Boob. No, really.

But back to my buttocks and the amazing revolving skirt. It occurs to me that the only possible reason for this phenomenon is that my buttocks and upper thighs are in some way rifled, possibly with tiny hairs invisible to the naked eye that spiral around the body in such a way as to create a helical ‘garment super-highway’ that any sufficiently tight item of bottom-clothing is compelled to follow. It further occurs to me that in the right circumstances therefore, this rifling effect of my buttocks could project a skirt further and more accurately than any smoothbore backside, much in the same way that rifles are themselves more effective than less sophisticated muskets.

Of course, such an experiment would require that my body be somehow elevated and tilted upon a special kind of gimballed tripod so that my lower area could be aimed properly, whilst simultaneously enabling the requisite ambulatory motion necessary to generate the necessary gyroscopic effect. Furthermore, some sort of linear force would be required to provide the forward projection with sufficient velocity, but modesty of course forbids me from suggesting any obvious source of propulsion.

The practical applications of the Rifled Buttock Skirt Launcher continue to elude me for the moment, though I am leaning towards some sort of entanglement projectile much in the style of the gaucho bolas or Spider-Man’s web-shooters. At any rate, I’m confident that the solution, once cracked, will be of invaluable use to the freedom-loving peoples of the World. It’s only right and proper that I turn my curse into a gift that could benefit mankind, much in the style of the X-Men. Suggestions for my superhero name are welcome.