Pants: A Pictorial

Khaki Pants



I'm not going to let the fact that I'm currently wearing khaki pants curtail or censor my hatred for men who wear khaki pants. Even if it means that I must roast myself over the fire (metaphorically, of course; we're just talking about pants here), then that's just the way it has to be. Because, the world needs to know: Men who wear khaki pants are just the worst sorts of people out there. Just awful. They're the "hip" businessmen who think suits are for their Dads or they're frat guys going to an awards banquet or they're shitty teenagers who're being forced to go to church with their grandparents because they got busted with a joint behind the gym. Men who wear khaki pants know where to purchase Rohypnol. They know when Nickleback is coming into town next. They know evil, because they know themselves.

That being said, khaki pants are extremely comfortable, particularly if you are what's known in most medical journals as a "fatty fatty fat fat," which is why I'm wearing them currently. I'm the exception that proves the rule, in other words. Men who wear khakis are all terrible people EXCEPT for me. (and truthfully, I ain't that great either)

Pants With a Lot of Bullshit On Them



Come the fuck on. You've got straps and zippers and buckles and clasps and key rings and a little magnifying glass and a toothpick and a fish scaler... these pants redefine the concept of "unnecessary" for the new millennium. Pants should be sewn-together bits of cloth that you wear to cover your shame, and that's it; they shouldn't be more complicated than the dashboard of a 747. And what's worse? What's grosser? These are, I believe, technically known as "bondage pants." Fucking ew. I mean, okay, whatever, if you're into bondage and all the assorted weirdness that goes along with that particular lifestyle then... you know... fine. Your bedroom, your rules, long as everyone involved doesn't get too litigious. But for the love of all our gag reflexes, keep it to yourself, you loony toon. Don't buy clothes that announce your peccadilloes to the world; self-obsession isn't going to get you laid, and clearly that's you're goal, given your choice in pants. Leave a little mystery, folks.

Oh, and if you ARE using your "bondage pants" during the actual act of sex, for fuck's sake... and I can't stress this enough... wash them after each use. No one wants to catch a whiff of the stale tobacco, astroglide, scented candle, strawberry latex, came-to-soon gravy you've been stewing in for the last three days, you unfortunate son of a bitch.

Wacky Pants



My first reaction to these pants was, obviously, to see if my eyeballs would pop like cherry tomatoes if I jabbed them with a pair of high-quality, office scissors. But then, right before I struck the first blow, I had a revelation: These pants, offensive to those with sight as they may be, are also the most awesome thing on the planet that you wear below your waist (excluding kilts, of course; kilts are the tip-top of the mountain mainly because they really let your junk breathe). But why, C-dog? What's so good about these orange and blue abominations? Well, it's like this: The world, in case you hadn't noticed, is pants boring. Everyone is basically wearing one of three things... the khakis I mentioned earlier, blue jeans (snore), or dark suit pants if you're a CEO or attending the funeral of a loved one. I mean, sure, there's tuxedo pants and shorts and other variables like that but... by and large... it's just the three; the Triumvirate of Dullness. It's all you see. It's pants boring.

Then, POW, some wiggly little dude with interesting hair and a degree in Art History comes a-struttin' into the room wearing these like a licence to kill and suddenly the small gathering of your friends turns into this thing you may have once seen in an 80s teen comedy called "A PARTY" and the night is yours and the roof blows off and everyone is dancing in unison and liquor arcs through the air like a fun fountain from your dreams. Yes, these pants are obnoxious. But sometimes it takes a little gasoline to burn this motherfucker down, if you follow my line of logic.

Cargo Pants



Pants with extra pockets were invented by the military to carry extra ammo and rations and a hundred other things that our men and women might possibly need while out in the wild, defending the USA from evil, terrorists, commies, the threat of reefer madness, etc. They were made for a specific purpose, courtesy of Uncle Sam, and they served that purpose well.

And, what, you're using that idea to haul around a paperback and a mix CD you made for Jane that really tells her how you feel, but isn't too obvious because you don't want to come off as creepy even though you think about her like all the time? You can't throw those things in a bag like a normal person, or at least cram them into the perfectly-fine pockets that come standard on an average pair of pants? You need extra pockets, huh? Ones were you can keep all your valuables (a pack of gum, wadded up Kleenex, condoms in case Jane REALLY likes the mix CD) pressed close to your hairy, probably-sweaty leg?

You suck, dude. Everyone in the military is laughing at you and what basically amounts to a purse that you're wearing on your lower half.

Hammer Pants

Great if you're a rap sensation in the early 90s. But you know what else they're great for? A cheap laugh for the end of blog posts written by lazy writers who are still waiting for the caffeine to kick in. They're perfect for that. They are also 2 legit 2 quit.

Remember? Remember that song? That MC Hammer sang and it was kind of silly? Yeah, you remember it. Jesus Christ, I am so fucking good at blog writing...