Nothing irks the truth-crusading fashion industry more than the fact that the Santa Claus we know and "love" -- the jelly-bellied chap clad in a red-and-white suit -- was fashioned by a cola company.

This year, we fight back.

With the same vim and vigor Cordarounds employed to unravel the myth that corduroy should only run vertically, we shall slay this aged, bloated, sugar-addled vision of holiday goodness. Literally. And, ho ho ho, we have just the man for the job -- Lazenby!

Now enjoy as Cordarounds' romantic spokesman for womenswear tells his epic holiday tale.

Gentle Womenfolk,

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!

You may now submit your holiday wish list or any romantic holiday questions to Lazenby himself in the Cordarounds blog. Just click "Comments" beneath this story.

Posted by cordarounds at 07:23 AM | Permalink

As Holiday shopping heats up at Cordarounds.com, our romantic spokesman is defending women's honor in the coldest of climes. Yes, it's time to gather your coworkers around the monitor, break open the Scotch, and enjoy the latest installment of LAZENBY SLEIGHS SANTA.

Imagine the fury of Lazenby – noble and handsome horseman, protector of virtue extraordinaire, spokesman for Cordarounds’ fine women’s attire – 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!”


IS THIS REALLY THE END FOR DEAR LAZENBY? WILL SANTA’S REIGN OF TERROR CONTINUE YET ANOTHER YEAR?  FIND OUT NEXT WEEK!
 

Posted by cordarounds at 03:10 PM | Permalink

At last, the finale the world's been waiting for--will Lazenby save Christmas from the dispicable St. Nick? Gather your coworkers around to experience the thrilling conclusion. There's violence! There's romance! There's even an MP3 Cordarounds Christmas carol!!!

Continued From Last Week (scroll below to see)

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!”

Posted by cordarounds at 01:28 AM | Permalink

Yes, millions await the Monday finale of Cordarounds' Christmas Saga, Lazenby Sleighs Santa.  Will our hero survive the jaws of the orca and complete his mission to slay Santa?  Or will Kris Kringle's reign of perverse terror continue for another year?

Today, I received a Lazenby-themed Christmas carol from the insanely-talented Colin Stuart, a horizontal corduroy pant wearer from LA who predicts a pleasant outcome to our holiday saga.  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.) 

You are strongly encouraged to download and play at all your holiday parties. It's just that good.

 

JINGLE BELL WALRII

By Colin Stuart

Special Thanks to:

Lesley Green, who provided inspiration, arranging, and vocals

Leslie Machacak, who facilitated the mike and much needed Lesley's baby-watching

Ron and Ron, who patiently put up with 12 hours of takes leaking through the walls.  

 

If you're an artist and would like to submit sketches of any part of the Lazenby Christmas Saga, we'd love to see them.  

 

Posted by cordarounds at 08:04 AM | Permalink

Many women ask, "When is it appropriate for a lady to wear her Cordarounds coat in smoking-jacket mode?"  To answer this important question, we’ve called on Lazenby, Cordarounds' romantic skirt spokesman, who is standing by to answer your questions on fashion and adventure. Simply click Comments below.

 
Gentle Citizenry, It has been far too long since Lazenby's quill has danced merrily upon these pages, and this regrettable fact does make Lazenby ache with you, verily.  But oh, had you heard but a whisper of the travails visited upon him in the farthest corner of the Earth, you would not begrudge his absence.  Nay! You would cower beneath a quilt, shivering with fear!

And now the mystery shall be revealed; Lazenby shall recount for you now the circumstances of his disappearance  and in doing so, answer the question that grips the soul of many a woman: When shall I wear my cordarounds coat in smoking jacket mode? (Gentle womenfolk, Lazenby requests you prostrate yourselves upon feather pillows, with fans at the ready!)

Your humble mounted servant has returned from the Orient, where he endeavored to rescue Lady Delilah Breckonshire, the buttery-soft creature of ineffable beauty and infinite wisdom -- particularly in matters of fashion -- who had been abducted by the despicable opium lord, Baron Chou.  If only this vision of virtue had not been wearing her new reversible Cordarounds smoking jacket inside-out, which multiplied her beauty a hundredfold and transformed her into a quarry of celestial delight for the cur Chou, who gazed at her through eyes flogged by the insidious poppy, the beast-energy growing in him by the second!  Indeed, a woman wearing such lovely and versatile togs brought forth a tingle in Chou that Lazenby himself has felt, and cannot explain without blushed countenance.

Suffice it to say, the fiend was dispatched promptly by Lazenby and his deadly accuracy with the javelin.  Then he stole into the steamy night with the good Lady Breckonshire, she and her jacket hidden beneath the cloak of Lazenby, lest the hungry claws of the White Dragon reach out again in search of a fashionable young lovely!

Rest well again, good folk.  Know that not another night shall pass in this City by the Bay that the streets do not echo with the hooves of my steed, and the pounding of a heart so restless.  And know that if you wear your Cordarounds jacket in its so-called smoking mode, you yourself shall smolder not unlike the fires that rage within the cauldron of passion that is Lazenby, and he shall draw titanic breaths of longing as he gazes upon you.

Excelsior!

Posted by cordarounds at 10:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (15)

Dear Ladies,

When you wipe up a spill with a Brawny paper towel, who do you think of?  A rugged and intriguing woodsman, of course.

Take a drag off your Marlboro, and does your mind’s eye not wander to a stark, beautiful dreamscape, where a handsome cowboy pauses to survey the infinite horizon before lighting another cigarette and calling softly to his four-legged charges?

And each time you spread a luxuriously smooth lump of McCorkle’s Meat Paste on a saltine cracker, your pulse must surely quicken at the sight of Uncle Beefly, whose toothless mouth and meat paste-drizzled beard graces every can.

Please, take a moment to sigh heavily and wipe the perspiration from your forehead.

At Cordarounds, we recognized the need for an icon of dashing, unbridled masculinity as a spokesman for our new line of corduroy skirts.  And after an exhaustive search that took us from the opium dens of Phnom Penh to the pages of the Abercrombie and Fitch catalog and back again, we found our man.

Lazenby!

He is a mysterious character, this Lazenby, riding his horse through the fog-shrouded streets of San Francisco.  Women swoon and ruffians flee at the mere mention of his name.  He is a legendary lover, we are told, and also volunteers at an animal shelter.  He can cook gourmet meals and is equally adept at fisticuffs.  He is everything a woman desires, and so much more.  

It should also be mentioned that he loves the new Cordarounds skirt.  To this end, we recently received a brief missive from Lazenby, penned in flawless calligraphy:

What is a skirt, dear sirs, but an elegant interruption of my inevitable caress upon a fair maiden’s soft, milky thighs?  No cloth, horizontal or otherwise, is a match for the lightning-quick hands of Lazenby!  But if there must be even a shred of a thread ensconcing the lap of a lovely lass -- an obstruction and obfuscation that brings a sporting smile to the lips of Lazenby -- then I say the foiling fabric should conspire to form nothing less than a Cordarounds skirt!  As I ride hither and thither through the mist and darkness of the city, women turn their heads at the clippity-clop, clippity-clop of my steed, and they swoon at the sight of Lazenby -- if they are so lucky to see more than his shadow!  And, it must be admitted, when they are clad in a skirt of horizontal corduroy, they reach out with arms unseen to tug at the heart and loins of Lazenby.  And he must ride -- quickly now! -- lest the siren song sung by these skirts puts an end to his wandering ways.

Oh, Lazenby!

Posted by cordarounds at 11:41 PM | Permalink