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The fabric of the universe is a sort of nubby grey tweed. How do I know? I’m Tony, tailor of the universe. I’m not God, of course. I just work for Him.

I didn’t always dress the universe this way. In its younger years, the universe frequently sported brighter colors and skimpier fits, which displayed much more “dark matter.” The universe was, let’s face it, a snappier dresser back then.

Some say I’ve lost my nerve, that I’ve grown unaccountably conservative and dull in recent millennia. I fervently dispute that. I am exercising fine taste which allows the universe to age gracefully and with style. There is some middle age spread (the universe is expanding) so tighter clothing is no longer appropriate or practical.

The new outfit is less clingy, but not shapeless. It is distinguished, I think.

In my job, stains are a serious problem. I’ve been working for centuries trying to get that red spot out of Jupiter. I scrub and scrub and finally it seems to be fading.

But the biggest trouble just happened this morning: there’s a giant tear in the fabric of the universe. We’re talking about a gigantic wardrobe malfunction. All kinds of bad things could result. It’s really embarrassing—like the universe left its zipper open—but don’t worry; Tony is on it.

I’ve been threading my biggest needle and I’m so happy I picked grey. Finding matching thread was easy.