So You Think You Can Fug?

Pants are great. You all know I love and respect pants.

And you, hideous pantaloons, are no pants:

I mean, come on -- what is this? Other than the fact that her terrible new song wantonly pillages the innocence from my delicate ears, there is no logical reason that she should join the legions of doomed fools who are using the word "buccaneer" as their style guide. Especially not when the outfit squeezes her thighs so tight that her knees bulge like overstuffed sausages. Say it, live it, breathe it: Pants yes, 'loons no.

Also, aside from all those practical reasons Nelly Furtado should not have worn this when she pimped her album on So You Think You Can Dance (she does; she can't), there is this very important point: Don't the knee tourniquets annoy her? I get irritated enough when a stray hair decides to take a suicide leap out of my head and lands on my arm. That thing gets swatted away faster than if it were a mosquito noshing on an A-positive appetizer. So if I were strutting around on stage trying misguidedly to rap, and I kept feeling those cloth strips banging against my legs, you'd soon see me writhing on the ground in a lather as I clawed the offending bastards off of the outfit.

In closing, I'd like to bring it home with some wise words from legendary play-by-play man Keith Jackson, something Ms. F echoed with the title of her first album: "Whoa, Nelly."