A compulsive shit talker known for its uncanny ability to spew forth volumes upon volumes of shit onto anything it encounters. This uncanny ability to emit a constant stream of shit from its mouth AKA the talking bilge pump, this is true, it has been said, results from the borracle consuming massive amounts of its own (and other people's) shit. It is thought that the borracle must gorge itself on immense amounts of shit daily to make sure that it is permanently full of shit, to avoid depletion of shit saturation. For hygenic reasons it is best to avoid borracle at all costs.
What's wrong with you?
Man, I need to take a shower, and throw out these clothes, I just ran into borracle and it puked shit all over my person again.
is Sherlock Holmes's cowardly sidekick brother. He puffs up like a toad when danger approaches often heard spouting inflated catch-phrases like 'by jove' or 'say'. He works for scotland yard, so he's passively instrumental to the plot, though his narrative is often flat, droning, and for the most part, easily overlooked and almost instantly forgotten and met with such response as timing one's breath to make sure one is still alive. Fortunately he's a ginger, so he manages to give of some air of spunk, however, that false impression is corrected upon getting familiar with him and his mannarisms. He lives vicariously and in actuality off of Shelock's genious and never feels the lesser for it. All in all an excellent side character to illuminate the others.
Pickle Gherkins: *sputters and puffs up* By jove, old chap, I best be getting along back to scotland yard, say, to work on the documents, you know those fiddley details, yes, say, good then, I wish you luck.
The papaya trick lies herein. You take the papaya and say to a friend; would you like to see me do a trick with this papaya? Once the friend shows interest, you then tell the them to watch the papaya. Then while they're looking at the papaya and not you, you hit them over the head with it. You may then chuckle at their most amusing misfortune, act as if there was a lesson to be learned, appologize and kindly ask for forgiveness, or attempt to follow it up with a reprise of the same trick, it's really up to you.
When executing the papaya trick, make sure the papaya is ripe, but still firm enough to make the signature 'donk' sound as it connects with the unsuspecting victims cranium.
PWS: Pockets, Wallet, Shoes. It's the once over you give yourself when a drunk street magician comes up to you and offers to show you a card trick and at first you half expect him to screw up, drop the cards and barf on you, but then he proceeds to pull off a trick that both blows your mind AND has you questioning reality for the next 45 minutes. You do the PWS once-over, 'cause if he can do that, then what else is he capable of?
Wow, that was some trick. First, PWS: pockets, wallet shoes. Check. Now, for the important question: Why is it that I can't fry an egg with my mind?
It's what you call it when, you're family finds you, takes you home from the cult, and deprograms you, then the cult finds you again, takes you back from your family, and has to go through the process of brainwashing you all over again.
Father Sirius: Good news, children, we have located Sally, and she still would love to be with us all when the great ship comes to take us to the Mecca of the stars, unfortunately her family don't believe in our destiny, so I need you to go to her house and bring her back to us.
Sister R5G331D: First reprograming Sally, then saltine, crackers and space milk. It's the greatest day ever!
A square of 5 by 5 blocks in downtown Toronto, bordered on the west by china town, east by the 'fruit basket', south by the lakeshore, and ends in the north leading into hicksville suburbia. The 5 by 5 is a place populated by a colourful circus of extreme rejects and freaks from all walks of life and if there is anything at all happening it will be happening in the 5 by 5.
If you want to see what's on in Toronto, go to the 5 by 5, if you hit china town turn around, but if you're seeing a whole lot of transvestites and men holding hands, you've gone too far.
The incredibly sexy man-whore, responsible for the arbitrarily pitched backing vocals for AFI.
Person 1: *shouts over noise of speaker* AFI's vocals seem very consistent, today.
Person 2: Oh, that's because Greg Kriesel's off screwing groupies.