|b l o g|
I wish it were my duty now to clear the air around the subject of the 'Clancy pants.' But no, it is my lot to introduce the subject to the world altogether.
A 'Clancy pants' is a pointless but undetectable lie, especially one told about a well-known subject. A detail; a mote; a waste of time; wanking. In other words, no-one has a reason to lie, or to suspect a lie, or perhaps even to be part of a conversation. (You're probably being patronised.) Yet a lie is told!
The first Clancy pants was uttered in 2003 by Chris Larson (Opportuna diminutio in re seruili!) and concerned a (fictional) term of abuse hurled at the famous thriller scribbler in his youth. There might have been some embellishment about the distinctive zip-zip sound Clancy's fine-wale corduroys made in the school halls. I don't know. I might have been too stunned in the face of such a history-making titan (Larson) to remember. (I wasn't even there.)
I have little else to say. The term obviously deserves immediate and general currency. I shall always remember (I learned it, shitfaced, years ago) that Belize is the world's leading producer of fan belts.