In the construction of old, generally coal-fired boilers for use in heavy applications one would generally find above the boiler door a large brass plate proudly bearing the name and location of its manufacturer.
Before the door would stand strong men intent on pushing their shovels into the boiler as far as they would go, depositing material therein as deep and as fast as they could go without killing themselves first.
The boiler itself was designed specifically to take this kind of punishment, day after day, year after year, and, while not being especially pleasing to look at it, would be guaranteed to raise a glass amongst those men who had over the years sweatily laboured at its threshold.
But I digress.
Its another way of saying your cock was RIGHT in a chick as far as it would go and then some.
Hey Mel, how did it go with Teresa?
Pretty good. The lobster was barely cold when I was up to the Boilermaker's Nameplate.
Hey Mike, I hear your wife gives out.
No shit. Every night I'm up to the Boilermaker's Nameplate.
That which is eaten in a way that results in a lot of noise being made such as open mouthed chomping, slurping and munching.
Thats how raccoons eat. And raccoons like breakfast as much as the next vertebrate.
Now since it is impossible to eat pussy with one's mouth closed, and since pussy is generally so tasty as to provide a man with a great feast to which there can be no resistance it therefore follows that the sound a guy makes when Dining At The Y is accompanied by noises not unlike those a raccoon makes when its having its brekky.
Hence the phrase.
And it doesn't harm one bit that a Raccoon will eat more or less anything and gets fucking pissed if you take its tasty snack away before its done.
It all adds to the mental image.
"For Fucks Sake Bobby can you pack it in. I cant get a wink of fucking sleep over here".
"Sorry, man. Im just getting the Raccoon's Breakfast".
Marlowe looked up from his desk. The broad was tall. Good looking. Too good. Looked like she had the kind of money that only comes with a long story and a gun. He wondered how long it would be before he was getting the Raccoon's Breakfast.
In his memoire, Kissinger recalled how often during the Kennedy years, the Oval Office would be often be the venue for some of the old Raccoon's Breakfast.
This has its origins in London, UK and goes back at least 70 years. I heard it from my Dad and he presumably heard it from his.
It means "to fart" but in a way that is not obvious until the smell hits. The smell is truly criminal, hence the possibility in the eyes of the beholder that its origins may have included a victorian detention centre.
Cheez, lad. Did you just let Tommy out of Prison?
Goldfinger turned on the laser. "Do you expect me to talk?" demanded Bond. "No Mr.Bond" laughed Goldfinger, "I expect you to... fuck me, have you let Tommy out of Prison?"
Like the Sesame Street(TM) character of similar name, Mr.Shitolophagus is brown, very large, and no bastard believes he exists except that one person who has seen it and is so emotionally invested in his existence that he gets upset when others deny it.
Mr.Shitolophagus is an enormous turd, the like of which one often sees on Boxing Day morning, the day after Thanksgiving or following some other major feed.
This is no ordinary turd. This was a bastard to get out and a bastard to flush away. You secretly want others to see it and be impressed by your achievement and the excellent taut musculature with which you so neatly crimped it off.
But alas you can't because the only other people in the house are either elderly relatives or housemates who are already convinced you are a dangerous psycho.
This results in nobody believing your story, as above, resulting in feeling of depression and barely contained rage.
Oscar the Grouch: "Hey, Bird, whassup".
Big Bird: "My friend Mr.Shitolophagus came to visit".
Oscar the Grouch: "Fuck me, here we go again with the Mr.Shitolophagus".
Ray: "Fuck me, did I ever have a fucking huge shite the day after Thanksgiving. its was like two foot long man"
Rob: "Ha ha. Yeah right."
Ray: "Im fucking telling you, you cnut"
Rob: "Mr.Shitolophagus visited again this year did he? ha ha"
Ray: "Fuck you"
Yet another term describing a lady's private parts, in this case alluding to the subtle, pleasing curve of her pubic mound and how its so agreeably matches the contour of one's hand or that of the luggage compartment cover of an air-cooled Volkwagen Beetle.
North Americans may choose to use "hood" instead of "bonnet" but since "hood" essentially means "foreskin" the elegance of the euphemism is lost. Better stick to "bonnet".
The sobriquet is all the more more powerful if the lady has cared to shave.
Hey Sandra, why don't you come round after work so I can have a look at your Volkswagen Bonnet.
So Brian, how's it going?
Pretty good. I was polishing some Volkwagen Bonnet this weekend.
Mr.Darcy. Please do repair with me to the drawing room whereupon I shall offer you some of pa-pa's fine port and a sly feel of my Volkswagen Bonnet.
Noun, describing the appearance of an anus after a lengthy and/or violent period of abuse from fingers, penises, dildos, broom handles, what-have-you.
Quentin's gait was as that of a penguin that morning after his initiation. When questioned by friends he confided that he had spent the evening being buggered senseless by the Green Bay Packers with the inevitable result of his asshole now looked like a Burst Balloon.