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Cordarounds Model Citizens
Sure, Christmas has passed, but you can relive 25-days of madcap merriment and mystery by visiting our advent calendar site. Click the image below to unlock each and every story, song, video, and eggnog invention. 
 Poof! There it goes. The 4th year in the life of Cordarounds, and more than 10000 fathoms of horizontal corduroy now span the globe. Yes, on today, December 23rd, we have plenty to be thankful for, but the greatest blessing is our children.
Our eldest, Lazenby, slew the despicable St. Nick (scroll below to read), and will now deliver gifts of plenty to children and women around the world this Wednesday night. Be sure to sing his official carol when he visits, and you'll get something extra special in your stocking(s).
Meanwhile, did you know that our riverboat gambler, Beauregard Delacroix bested the steam-driven poker robot, then went on to defeat Texas Hold 'em Super Computer, Deep Bluff?
And what about Wellington Stack, the adventurer of the family? After testing our trousers' ability to withstand the gut-expanding rigors of Thanksgiving dinner, he woke to gobble down a stack of pancakes shaped like a pair of upright Cordarounds! A caloric feat that didn't go unnoticed by the Pied Piper of Booze, who casually donned his reversible smoking jacket and set off on a quest to consume San Francisco's remaining stocks of Bacon and Eggnog.
Our youngest, Bosco Breedlove, joined the famed Hanover Commando Unit, yet the rookie toddler has been unsuccessful in his campaign to promote diaperless wearing of Babyrounds.
Buck Kentucky is still wanted by Interpol. Our lovable fashion prognosticating pet, Frisco Frank, recently raised Cain in San Francisco harbor, mauling all in sight who weren't wearing Cordarounds. That bloodthirsty scamp!
A BODICE-RIPPING HOLIDAY ADVENTURE, STARRING LAZENBY, CORDAROUNDS SPOKESMAN FOR WOMEN.
Oh, how Lazenby wishes the winds of fate could have blown more gently! How he begged to find some shred of goodness and decency in the coal-black heart of the fat, bearded beast known as Santa Claus! But it was not to be, for the deviant, ruddy-cheeked Kringle and his army of fiendish elves did recently set out to destroy dear Lazenby. Why? So they could continue unabated their wretched Christmas Eve tradition of visiting the houses of comely lasses clad in naught but their silky night-things, visit them with hungry eyes and slobbering countenances and thoughts of such an impure nature that Lazenby blushes, and must steady himself against the flank of his mighty steed. That is why, verily, Lazenby did kill Santa Claus – and save Christmas. Rejoice!
Know now that it shall be Lazenby – and not the accursed, corpulent, hell-snake Claus – who alights at your abode late this Christmas Eve. Know that this visitor shall be merry and handsome. Know him by his velveteen cloak the color of midnight. Know him by his attractive hoizontal corduroy trousers. Know that you shall quiver in so many delicious ways as Lazenby delivers to you gifts wrapped in fiery amour! Swoon, and Lazenby shall catch you, and make you his.
But first, Lazenby must put quill to parchment, so he may tell you and your lovely friends the heart-pounding tale of his epic battle against Santa Claus, the bile-dripping whorehound, and his vile minions from the Icy North.
May windows steam and may your collective bosoms heave beneath tight garments as you read Lazenby's words one magical night soon.
Excelsior! Imagine the fury of Lazenby – noble and handsome horseman, protector of virtue extraordinaire, Cordarounds' spokesman for women – upon learning of the wretched, sweaty depredations visited upon the silky smoothness of Mrs. Veronica Higginbotham of Meadowview, Ohio, by none other than Santa Claus! She would be the last flower to be trampled by this avatar of avuncular putridity in red velvet, this bearded, ruddy-cheeked cad that descends from the northernmost climes every Christmas Eve, ostensibly to deliver gifts of good tiding to the children of the world. Nay, it is but an excuse for his dastardly leering and heavy breathing and pinching of ladies’ buttocks.
Lazenby resolved to stop the monster at all cost!
Alighting on his mighty steed, Lazenby did gallop north from San Francisco, across the Sierra Nevada, across the windswept plains of Canada, and far into the frozen north. After galloping for many bitter days and nights, Lazenby did spy through the winter gloaming many drifts of once-virgin snow, cut by rivulets of blood. Soon he came upon the source of the gore: carcasses of seals and narwhals and all manner of Arctic beast, worked to their deaths in Santa’s abominable workshop and discarded on the icy tundra. The crisp air now grew thick with smoke and the odor of grease, and Lazenby and his steed knew that danger was surely afoot! Finally, they arrived at Santa’s abode – not the charming cottage of lore, but an icy fortress, ringed by a moat of boiling oil, patrolled by horrible, bellowing walruses clad in leather vests and chain mail, their tusks sharpened like daggers!
The manner in which our hero secreted himself inside this house of doom is long and tedious; suffice it to say, Lazenby found himself face to face with the despicable Kringle and his garrison of bloodthirsty elves, their pointy boots jingling menacingly with every step they took toward our hero. Above them swung a cage filled with whimpering Romanian prostitutes, whom the elves had spirited out of Bucharest to quench Un-saintly Nick’s vast array of perversions. “Fear not,” Lazenby said, addressing the maidens in his best Romanian. “You shall not drown in this Arctic hell-broth so long as dear Lazenby has words to the contrary. Înainte!”
“Fiend!” cried Lazenby, unsheathing his gleaming scimitar and setting his unwavering gaze upon Claus. “Wretched, corpulent defiler! Upon my blade you shall now rest most uncomfortably!”
Santa issued forth a deep and evil laugh. “Ho, ho, ho, Lazenby,” he said, saliva glistening on his terrible beard. “I shall enjoy watching you die before I embark upon another Christmas Eve of debauchery!” Santa drew from beneath his suit a silver whistle, into which he blew a strange and foreboding note. The floor shook beneath Lazenby’s feet.
“What manner of evil is this now, wretched Claus?” cried Lazenby. Suddenly, a great Orca exploded through the ice and clasp Lazenby in its jaws, dragging him down to the frozen depths!
“Goodbye, Lazenby” Santa said. “Goodbye forever!” Under the command of the damnable Kris Kringle, the ravenous orca did seize our hero Lazenby in his mighty jaws and drag him to the icy depths. Meanwhile, in Santa’s abominable workshop, his putrid elves danced gleefully upon the ice – cracking their whips and drinking from great barrels of cheap brandy – and the cage-bound prostitutes did cry in anguish for dear Lazenby, consigned to a watery grave by this demon cetacean! How Lazenby did struggle to extricate himself, but to no avail, and the life that had burned brighter than Mercury’s torch began to dim! But then, hark the furious bubbles of a pod of narwhals! They did rescue Lazenby, and proceeded to perforate the vile orca to and fro with their bony lances, until the beast released out hero, Lazenby, and plummeted to the depths to become crab-victuals! One of the narwhals, this sleek, sea-faring savior, granted Lazenby the use of its sword. And a kindly walrus gave Lazenby one of its tusks. And with these razor-sharp implements our hero swam to the surface, whereupon he sought out the white-whiskered Saint of Misery and did deliver unto his ample stomach a great and bloody death-blow! “Curse you, handsome horseman,” Claus sputtered, his mouth awash in blood and bile. As this corpulent merchant of ill-tidings looked on through dying eyes, Lazenby did summon Mrs. Claus from her locked bedchamber. Urged on by Lazenby’s kind hands, she did lay her freshly knitted quilt on a field of freshly fallen snow, and there Lazenby lay with her, and walked her through a garden of such delights as she had not seen in all her hundreds of years! And the seals and walruses and all other manner of aquatic mammal did clap their flippers and cheer wildly as the lovers embraced in the gentle glow of the Aurora Borealis. And the prostitutes were freed, and they did rejoice! And the elves did flee out upon the tundra, where they would soon be devoured by polar bears and caribou! “Oh Lazenby,” said the Lady Claus, still rendered dreamy by her cloaked paramour, “there are still so many gifts to deliver tonight!” "Indeed, my graying lovely!” cried Lazenby, pulling up his Cordarounds and summoning not only his mighty steed, but also a stable of reindeer as well as a number of leather-clad walruses, to which he hitched Santa’s sleigh. “As Claus breathes his last, so Lazenby shall ride tonight! The children of the world shall rejoice with gifts aplenty, and comely housewives shall too receive gifts, but of another, breathtaking sort. Forward ho!”
 We're not ones to toot our own horns, but we've never been afraid to toot our own recorders. And since the holidays are all about tradition & nostalgia, today we reflect on one of our finest adventures -- one that was covered on Wired News and local TV, one that still inspires San Franciscans till this very day.
Your December 10 advent treat: THE PIED PIPER OF BOOZE.
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 Today, we further our efforts to elevate Lazenby into the ranks of Christmas icons like Santa and Scrooge. Noted Cordarounds contributor, Colin Stuart, penned a song that will soon become a standard among Christmas carolers.
Click and listen as Cordarounds' romantic spokesman assumes the gift-giving role of St. Nick and replaces the sleigh with an Airstream trailer driven by a team of Walruses (which he refers to as Walrii--a decision that will be debated by wildlife grammarians for ages.)
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 Ted Tippler from Taos, NM writes: Cordarounds simply doesn’t offer enough products! Why can’t I buy coffee mugs, skateboard decks, neckties, and shoes with Zeppelins and other pants action heroes on them?
Because we must remain focused on trousers to make the very best. Also, we have to complete our 100 million dollar pants zeppelin before moving on other product categories.
So, for the Dec. 10 advent treat, we’ve decided to humor Mr. Tippler and expand our product line via Zazzle.com -- the Web's #1 place to immortalize humiliating photos of friends on skateboard decks, mugs, and aprons.
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 The response to last week's SAY NO TO NOG challenge has been astounding: Scores of Cordarounds customers have stuffed our inbox with delicious Eggnog alternatives, and scores more have nogged and feathered eggnog industry officials.
Today, we're proud to announce our winner.
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 What's Black Friday? Why, that's the day when retailers rejoice as their balance sheets pass at last from red to black. To sentimental companies like Cordarounds, it's a holiday more momentous than Easter, Independence Day, and Christmas combined. But why is there no Easter Bunny, Uncle Sam, or jolly St. Nick to represent Black Friday? Why doesn't this venerable holiday have its own Tom Turkey, Guy Fawkes, or Elvira?
Because this Friday is so very important to the health of our economy, Cordarounds recently convened an emergency meeting at the National Department of Commerce and Folklore to create a roster of mascots sure to raise consumer confidence during this all-important holiday.
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 Every autumn, millions of American men tragically go pantless while their fellow citizens turn a blind eye. This is the terrible affliction known as Pantlessteria -- more commonly referred to as Sansapant Syndrome, Trousernot, or Nay Slacks disease. Fortunately, there is a cure -- and it's just clicks away at Cordarounds.com. That's where our scientists, in partnership with the National Institutes of Health and Johns Hopkins University, are working around the clock to develop Bike to Work pants, horizontal-corduroy trousers, and other solutions to this most pressing problem.
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 On Sunday, November 2nd, we fall back to Pacific Standard Time. On Monday, November 3rd, cyclists will commute home in the dark. With that in mind, Cordarounds, maker of bike-to-work pants, is proud to present a cycling awareness event unlike any other -- one with the modest goal of being visible from the International Space Station. At 6:00, participants will ride from the Embarcadero's gigantic bow and arrow to the Gestalthaus in the Mission , illuminating the streets with all manner of reflective and light-emitting commuter gadgetry.
 New reversible smoking jackets have arrived at Cordarounds, and it’s high time we settled the eternal question of whether this item of fashion fabulousness is a modern corduroy coat or majestic smoking jacket. Amazingly, the answer is both. But how can this be? Leave it to technology to reveal Mother Nature’s secrets. In the same way naturalists use high-speed cameras to capture a chameleon’s color change, the sweep of a hummingbird's wing, or a mating manatee’s split-second Nixon impersonation, engineers at Cordarounds Livermore Laboratories have finally managed to capture THE JACKET REVERSAL on video.
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 Imagine if the world of aviation had declared "Problem solved!" after the Wright Brothers made their historic first flight at Kitty Hawk. Why, we would never have known the glories of the Spruce Goose, stealth bomber, or the Cordarounds Zeppelin! (More on our corporate dreadnought in a moment.) The same can be said of Cordarounds' groundbreaking line of horizontal-corduroy pants -- another tribute to human imagination and ceaseless innovation. Like Orville and Wilbur, our brave employees have risked life and limb in the pursuit of trouser technology. And once again this season, Cordarounds has taken a quantum leap forward in science and fashion with a host of fantastic upgrades.
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In these dark times, a ray of light (as reported in Gizmodo and BoingBoing.net)
The financial apocalypse is upon us, my friends. But don’t despair. Through the swirling dust of crumbled investment banks and the haze of towering bonfires of foreclosure papers, there is a light ― pure and true. A shining beacon in these dark and troubled times.
We’re talking about the new Cordarounds Bike to Work pants, of course.
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 For months, Cordarounds headquarters has been besieged by its most dastardly foe: Vertical Corduroy. By land and by sea, the vicious vertical villain has squeezed our supply lines like a giant, fabric Kraken. Yet Horizontal Corduroy did not succumb. Outnumbered literally millions to one, our horizontal lines have held strong, true...and velvety-soft to the touch.
Now, at long last, reinforcements have arrived! An armada of schooners laden with horizontal corduroy has docked in San Francisco Bay, and our hale and hearty stevedores are unloading cargo around the clock.
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We're fed up with the exorbitant cost of renting in San Francisco, so we've decided to move the entire Cordarounds operation onto our brand-new airship as soon as possible. That's right, the world's finest horizontal corduroy pants will be produced amongst the clouds. Soaring eagles will inspire our scientists; brilliant sunshine will invigorate our seamstresses. It's one more reason to feel superior when you slip on a pair. But we're going to need help. Lots of help. The Cordarounds Zeppelin will require hundreds of able-bodied crew members, from pilots to Pilates instructors.
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 Do you know His Majesty, Haji Hassanal Bolkiah Muizzaddin Waddaulah, the Sultan of Brunei? Do you know someone who knows him? If so, please forward on this message: Your Excellency: It has been 13 insufferable years since Bill Gates surpassed you as the world's wealthiest man. These have been dark days indeed when unparalleled personal fortune has been defined not by harems and saffron-fueled Lamborghinis made of gold, but by stock options and sensible V neck sweaters.
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 SAN FRANCISCO, Sept. 3 – In a landmark climate-change study conducted jointly by the National Weather Center and Cordarounds, makers of casual, horizontal seersucker pants ( now on sale in our store), researchers have determined that increased levels of greenhouse gases in the atmosphere will fuel scorching summer weather nationwide until at least mid-October. As a result, the Presidential Advisory Council on Science and Fashion has taken the unprecedented step of calling for an immediate and indefinite suspension of the so-called "No White After Labor Day" law.
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 The Golden Push was a resounding success. In 8 hours, nearly 200 people pushed Tyler from the Mission all the way to the Goldengate. Our sponsored athlete battled feral children and an overactive bladder to reach his objective by 4:45. MacNiven's remarkable, people-powered production was covered by the EXAMINER, THE CHRONICLE, and KFOG.
WATCH THE WHOLE (OR HILARIOUS PARTS) OF THE VIDEO BY VIEWING THE EXPANDED ENTRY WITH ZANNEL VIEWER. ![]()
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 Cordarounds is in every sense a global enterprise -- well, excluding the World Music sense. So while we're a humble, two-man business making clothing in San Francisco, the fact that we only sell online means that you, dear customer, must compete for our latest styles with the likes of fashion-conscious Belarusian mobsters, Papuan New Guinea tribesman and members of the Easter Island Elks Lodge, to name just a few. Today we're embracing our World Wide Web identity by renaming our company ÇØRDÅRØÜÑDS, a name that's appropriately international, but one that we have no idea how to pronounce.
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 SPRING, Texas -- On May 2, at precisely 2:30 local time, members of Ms. McKey's English class watched in awe as a trouser-shaped UFO descended from the heavens, landing just shy of the end zone in Leonard George Stadium (home of the Lions).
Upon closer inspection, the intrepid students discovered curious "Cord-a-locator" cards in the pockets as well as a shiny Sacajawea dollar coin -- proof that these were not just any airborne trousers, but authentic Cordarounds summer trousers, the very ones that took flight (see video) from the from San Francisco's Fort Mason on April 22nd.
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 On Tuesday , Earth Day, a vessel of hope took flight from San Francisco -- a pair of helium-borne trousers that rose into the firmament, and then traveled eastward upon the breath of angels.
And why? To prove an important point: That cords can be worn all summer long. They're not just any corduroy, of course, but Cordarounds' new ultra-lightweight, nano-wale trousers.
Weighing in at a scant .65 lbs, these feathery trousers need a mere 11 cubic feet of helium to go airborne -- to the envy of common khakis, jeans, and other comparatively leaden summer pants, the helium buoyancy of which is detailed in the extended entry.
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 The newest competitor in the $30 million Google Lunar X PRIZE is neither an engineer nor a pilot. In fact, he never advanced beyond his third, gin-soaked semester at the University of Mississippi-Molassesburg. But 56-year-old Sylvester Boggs-Cockrell is nothing if not a determined and courtly Southern gentleman. And when this scion of the South first learned of the international competition to send a robot to the moon, he set down his glass of iced tea, rubbed his fine white whiskers contemplatively, and exclaimed, "Mercy me, how I would so delight in beating those Yankee rapscallion tin-men to the moon myself!"
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 The last time riverboat gambler Beauregard P. Delacroix faced the mechanical man in a game of cards, he had lost his money, his home, and his prized Appaloosas. Worse, he had lost his cool – falling for the gambling gadget’s bluff when he could least afford to. He blamed his pants.
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 Add another name to the roster of legendary Cordarounds test pilots: Stephane Cros, the world's first seer-sonic shredder. May he rest in peace.
Each and every man who straps on a pair of our aerodynamic shorts or trousers soars, falcon-like, into a world of blinding velocity; this is a fact. Yet, there are those who push the envelope further still, names like Wellington Stack, Bosco Breedlove and Trippy Frost -- men and indefatigable toddlers who gave their lives in the name of pant science.
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 From the dark hollows of Appalachia to the steamy bayous of Louisiana, Austindale Crocket has spent a lifetime hunting the largest and most ferocious beasts ever to roam the backwoods of his beloved South. Possumzilla (seen above), King Coon, even the dreaded Saber-Toothed Squirrel --they all met their fate at Crocket's mighty hands. Among his fellow outdoorsmen, he is known as a hunter of singular skill and courage, a man who once, bereft of his trusty Winchester rifle, laid low a one-ton, 200-point buck deer with little more than a machete and his own gleaming incisors.
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 A team of scientists from Cordarounds Labs traveled to the famed leisure proving grounds of Worthington P. Chesterfield’s wide and gracious front porch to put our horizontal seersucker pants to the test--the Southern Gentleman test. Under rigorous analysis, Summerounds scored high marks in all manner of Southern Gentlemanly arts (see findings on right). And why shouldn't they? After all, these pants were sewn in San Francisco's South of Market district by ladies who hail from southern China. And you can acquire a pair for well south of $100. It doesn’t get much more Southern than that, does it? Until our pant scientists figure out how to fabricate them out of sweet tea, we don’t think so.
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 At long last, Cordarounds has a drug subculture to call its own. We'd been holding out for Shoe Goo sniffing, but according to the latest edition of Details Magazine, our pants are the hottest look in opium dens from Rangoon to Richmond, VA. Read for yourself in this expose. Yes!
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 SAN FRANCISCO, April 03 — Tony Bennett may have left his heart in San Francisco, but a tourist recently discovered that you can leave your arm there as well. That is, when local fashionistas convince you to stick your arm into a dark and foreboding grotto – a grotto that happens to be occupied by a large and remorseless sea lion, whose insatiable appetite for human flesh is exceeded only by his remarkable capacity to accurately predict the onset of the summer fashion season!
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 COUNTY KERRY, Ireland (Feb. 5, 2008) -- Angry, naked and cold, several hundred sheep gathered today in the Beaufort town square to protest the recent loss of their resplendent ebony wool, a situation organizers have called nothing less than a total fleecing of their basic ovine rights. Amid a chorus of bleating and chattering teeth, the so-called "Frozen Flock" claimed that overwhelming demand for Cordarounds authentic black sheep crewneck sweaters has robbed them of their fine black coats, leaving them, quite literally, out in the cold during the icy Irish winter.
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Today we reveal the winners of the 
This week, the Newspaper of Record proclaimed that