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How fancy are your pants?
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| shanny |
We're asking everyone to rate how fancy their pants are...
So, on a scale of 1 to fancy, where do your pants fit?
Any and all pants need to be ranked. It is not a priveledge, but the right of the citizens of this country to see where their pants fit in the grander scheme of it all.
Bells, whistles, polka dots, stripes, pockets, rips, zippers, buttons, flares, bell bottoms, patches.
You name it we want to know how it makes or breaks your pants.
As a word of reasurrance, do not fear if you have received a poor rating on one of your prize pair of pants, we are taking an average score, so as long as you don't try to pull any "funny business" we should be fine. |
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| Silky Johnson |
| Pfffft. Pants are so last year. :rolleyes: |
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| Jem_hadar |
| quote: | Originally posted by jennypie
Pfffft. Pants are so last year. :rolleyes: |
i agree. this year is about bras.
but not fancy bras. simple, nice bras.
BUT... if we're going whats "so this year" and need to stay in the "leg covering" category, which obvi bras dont fall into (obviously), then we should be talking about LEGGINGS!
The Highroller and I cant say enough good things about leggings |
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| Jeff Button |
Currently, I am wearing a non-pleated, pin-striped, stain defender slack from Dockers called 'The Prostyle'. These things are as comfortable as a freshly laundered pajama pant, and definitely come through in the clutch each and every time.
Highly recommended.
http://www.dockers.com/canada/en/prostyle/?wrinkle |
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| Silky Johnson |
| You know what I like about dress pants? The way you can tell which way a guy is hanging, just by looking at their crotch. |
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| Jem_hadar |
Mr. Shanahan, if I may, I would like to take this moment in time to present a favourite quote of mine, from a most fantastic of workplace sitcoms from the 90s, NewsRadio.
This quote speaks of (implied) "fancy pants" and thus should be present in said thread.
*Ahem*
Mr. James (reading from his book, translated in to Japanese then back in again into English):
"I had a small house of brokerage on Wall Street. Many days no business come to my hut... my hut.... But Jimmy has fear? A thousand times no! I never doubted myself for a minute for I knew that my monkey strong bowels were girded with strength like the loins of a dragon ribboned with fat and the opulence of buffalo dung. Glorious sunset of my heart was fading. Soon the super karate monkey death car would park in my space. But Jimmy has fancy plans, and pants to match. The monkey clown horrible karate round and yummy like cute small baby chick would beat the donkey."
Thank you. |
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| Jeff Button |
This is an e-mail I received from an old co-worker when I moved to head office.... it is all about fancy pants.
Hello Jeffrey,
As I glance across the store at you, delicately prancing from H rack to H rack, carrying slacks like only you know how to, I can’t help but wonder why… why there are starving children in Africa, why blue and yellow make green, and why hot dogs come in packages of 12, when hot dog buns only come in packages of 8. Most importantly, why do I crawl into bed each and every night without you in my arms Jeffrey? There are many mysteries to my life Jeffrey, and these mysteries plague my thoughts and cause me many sleepless nights. Another such mystery to me is how a man with a size 50 waist can possibly complain about pleats not hanging properly across his cottage cheese-rolled undercarriage. But, this is life, and more importantly, this is my life. His name is Laird. Laird MacKenzie. Laird waddled into my life this past Friday; he was on a mission, codenamed “operation: slackpant”. Laird wants every colour of the rainbow in flat-front low-rise pants, and he wants them now. He wants them bad. There is a dress pant desire burning deep within his loins. He salivates at the thought of a well-fitting slack, just as he salivates over his three amigos: Ronald McDonald, Colonal Sanders, and of course, Dave Thomas, founder of Wendy’s. So Jeffrey, if not for me, do it for Laird. Get up from your desk, get up from this email, and go find Bill Kingston. Find him Jeffrey, and find him now… it is of upmost importance. You find Bill Kingston, you press yourself up against his manly bosom and get millimeters away from his face until you can smell his sweet, sticky breath. The kind of breath that reminds one of the dew on sunny autumn morns… the kind of breath that makes you long for mama’s shepherds pie. The kind of breath that makes you want to grab your crotch and run from the room smiling and giggling like a Japanese school girl. You’ll know it when you smell that breath Jeffrey. If there is any doubt in your mind whether or not you’ve smelled it, you haven’t smelled it. And when you DO smell that breath, that luxurious, fanciful Bill Kingston breath, I want you to lean in real close and whisper “flat front slacks…low rise…size fifty…Laird.” And if that doesn’t tell Bill Kingston that you mean business, nothing will. So you ask him, and when his knees begin to quiver, and his lips part with fear and he utters the words that I need to hear, such as “…five colours…” or “…store 001…” then you reply to this email just as fast as your little dainty fingers can type, so that I may fulfill the fantasies of the one they call Laird. The artist formerly known as Laird. Thank you Jeffrey, and may you have many scrumptious days filled with delicacies and tasty treats that I should only dream of knowing.
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| rabbitjoker |
| I only wear swanky pants. |
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| SuperJimbo |
| quote: | Originally posted by jennypie
Pfffft. Pants are so last year. :rolleyes: |
Agreed.
:eek: |
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| Provocative_boi |
One of these days i wana go commando in these:-
 :) |
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| Abercrombie |
| I get to wear my bare-ass chaps on the 24th. |
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| trancechaos |
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