The two ghosts, floating irritably above their inert corpses, continue their bickering while shoving the Book of Love back and forth between them. Finally, they come to a decision and toss the book to Kuroi and SnarkySnowman. The book lands at their feet with a thud. Nothing happens. The Communers gasp.
"What is the meaning of this?!" shouts one of the Communers.
"Have the Trouser Gods forsaken us? Trouser Gods! Where are you?" shouts another.
The clouds part half-assedly, and from the heavens the booming sound of snoring and muttering.
"ZzzZZzzz... so much snow..." says the Trouser Gods.
"Uhhhh... Holy Ones?" says a voice from the Commune.
"ZzzZZzzzZ old people... get them away... no.... nooooo.... ZzzZzZZz..."
"YO TROUSER GODS!" shouts Donald Trump, Jr.
"Zzz-- AHHH BOOBY TRAP!" shouts the Trouser Gods. "Oh. Uh. Right. Where were we? Yes, the Book of Love."
"You okay up there," asks Trump Jr. "You guys seem kind of... low energy," he says, once again licking his lips.
"Ah, erm, yes, ah... It's the presence of the Evil Ones," says the Trouser Gods. "They weaken us with each passing hour. Which is why it's imperative that my faithful subjects find and remove them as quickly as possible."
MagnaofIllusions clears his ghostly throat. Or rather, at least the idea of a physical manifestation of his throat. He points down at the Book of Love.
"Oh! Right," says the Trouser Gods. "With this book, I hereby bind Kuroi and Snarky until death do they part. And also after death."
The Book of Love floats into the air between Kuroi and Snarky, becoming a pair of fuzzy pink shackles attached to their wrists just as the previous Books had.
A leopard-printed carriage floats down from the heavens and stops in front of DGB and MoI. It's otherwise a perfectly ordinary carriage, except for the fact it's being pulled by two large, living cocks. The cocks shimmer and undulate in the warm sunlight, eating some of the grass.
"I haven't quite perfected the cock-drawn carriage yet," says the Trouser Gods. "But I suppose it will do for now."
"If we're going to be dead," says DrippingGoofball, "at least we're getting to Heaven in style."
DrippingGoofball and MagnaofIllusions board the carriage. The dicks stiffen and charge upward toward the gaping hole in the clouds, off to guide the two to an eternity of sexual fulfillment.
"Now, for the rest of you," says the Trouser Gods, "You need to ensure that our efforts here are not in vain. Root out the evil, for this threat may well be the end of free love!"
"Yes," says Trump Jr. "And there's still the whereabouts of my father. I must find him before the day's end... because, ah... there's an emergency session of the Trump Corporation's board of directors. Yes. That's it."
Trump Jr. licks his lips again, then looks up toward the sky. He turns to his bodyguards without a word and stalks away from the group.
