Nickname given to former clientele of a now-defunct bullshit jazz bar in Kitsilano famous for the aromas of stale urinal cakes and late-middle
Rotards are recognized by their inablity to converse on subjects not related to themselves
or to their now rat-infested opium den of a restaurant. They
are also infamous for occupying
other local watering holes and filling them with characters ranging from self-obsessed
gambling addicts to sadistic ex-high school football coaches.
The only defence against Ro-tards is to form a defensive
circle and stare unblinkingly at any program on the television above
Man: Hey woody, what's up.
Woody the Ro-tard: Me memememememememememememememememeRossinis!(hummed to the tune
from Moulin Rouge)