BikBoiCoq's definitions
Shahi Naan Kebab
(noun)
The Southall sacrament, performed only inside the most iconic of the Shahi Naan Kebabs - the one perched on the bridge by Southall Station.
It starts innocent: A group of Punjabi dudes loaded on Jameson enter the kebab shop. Jaspal orders a large lamb shish. But while the naan’s heating, Gurdeep’s already bent over the counter where they usually carve the meat. The chef, still rocking his greasy apron, doesn’t give a fuck - he just keeps shaving doner slices while using the same tongs to spread chilli sauce straight into Balraj’s crack. Meanwhile, the server is behind the till with his gloves still on, wanking Manpreet off like it’s part of the meal deal, slapping garlic mayo across his shaft in perfect zig-zags.
Tony gets body-slammed onto the salad counter - shredded lettuce and diced onions sticking to his sweaty back like confetti - while Harry’s cock disappears between the naan stackers by the grill. The “naan” part? That’s when the chef slaps a fresh butter naan straight onto Gurdeep’s arse like a hot compress. The “kebab”? A spitroast so deep the sneeze guard rattles, with the server chanting “extra sauce, bossman!” mid-thrust.
By the end, the Coke fridge is splattered, the floor’s a minefield of cum, chilli, and naan crumbs, and the chef casually wipes the counter down before handing the next customer their order — like nothing ever happened.
(noun)
The Southall sacrament, performed only inside the most iconic of the Shahi Naan Kebabs - the one perched on the bridge by Southall Station.
It starts innocent: A group of Punjabi dudes loaded on Jameson enter the kebab shop. Jaspal orders a large lamb shish. But while the naan’s heating, Gurdeep’s already bent over the counter where they usually carve the meat. The chef, still rocking his greasy apron, doesn’t give a fuck - he just keeps shaving doner slices while using the same tongs to spread chilli sauce straight into Balraj’s crack. Meanwhile, the server is behind the till with his gloves still on, wanking Manpreet off like it’s part of the meal deal, slapping garlic mayo across his shaft in perfect zig-zags.
Tony gets body-slammed onto the salad counter - shredded lettuce and diced onions sticking to his sweaty back like confetti - while Harry’s cock disappears between the naan stackers by the grill. The “naan” part? That’s when the chef slaps a fresh butter naan straight onto Gurdeep’s arse like a hot compress. The “kebab”? A spitroast so deep the sneeze guard rattles, with the server chanting “extra sauce, bossman!” mid-thrust.
By the end, the Coke fridge is splattered, the floor’s a minefield of cum, chilli, and naan crumbs, and the chef casually wipes the counter down before handing the next customer their order — like nothing ever happened.
Example in a sentence:
“Fam, I popped into Shahi Naan Kebab by Southall Station and swear the chef had one hand on the doner knife and the other inside Balraj — proper Shahi Naan Kebab special.”
“Fam, I popped into Shahi Naan Kebab by Southall Station and swear the chef had one hand on the doner knife and the other inside Balraj — proper Shahi Naan Kebab special.”
by BikBoiCoq August 26, 2025
Get the Shahi Naan Kebabmug. Tibetan Butter Dance
(noun)
A forbidden sex ritual at a Tibetan Air bnb where lube is replaced with Yak butter, and dignity doesn’t survive the night. Starts when one wasteman (usually Choda) melts down half a kilo, pours it over his own crack, and slaps his cheeks until they glisten like naan fresh out the tandoor. Harps then slips three fingers in, stirs like he’s churning ghee, and yanks his wrist like he’s starting a lawnmower. Manvir’s got Choda folded into a full lotus, ankles pinned behind his ears, while Gurdeep’s raw-dogging him so hard the butter literally squirts back out like a busted croissant.
The “dance” part? That’s when they’re all sliding around on the kitchen tiles, cocks out, losing balance, slipping in the butter and still somehow managing to keep fucking. By the end, the room smells like rancid dairy and regret, Choda’s hole looks like it just did a pilgrimage, and Harps is licking his butter-coated fingers swearing it “tastes spiritual.”
(noun)
A forbidden sex ritual at a Tibetan Air bnb where lube is replaced with Yak butter, and dignity doesn’t survive the night. Starts when one wasteman (usually Choda) melts down half a kilo, pours it over his own crack, and slaps his cheeks until they glisten like naan fresh out the tandoor. Harps then slips three fingers in, stirs like he’s churning ghee, and yanks his wrist like he’s starting a lawnmower. Manvir’s got Choda folded into a full lotus, ankles pinned behind his ears, while Gurdeep’s raw-dogging him so hard the butter literally squirts back out like a busted croissant.
The “dance” part? That’s when they’re all sliding around on the kitchen tiles, cocks out, losing balance, slipping in the butter and still somehow managing to keep fucking. By the end, the room smells like rancid dairy and regret, Choda’s hole looks like it just did a pilgrimage, and Harps is licking his butter-coated fingers swearing it “tastes spiritual.”
Example in a sentence:
“Fam, I thought it was just gonna be a cheeky threesome, but ten minutes later I’m arse-deep in butter, Choda’s screaming in tongues, Harps is slip-n-sliding on his belly with his cock like a hockey stick, and Dhunna’s licking greasy finger-holes like it’s a Domino’s garlic dip — full Tibetan Butter Dance, bruv.”
“Fam, I thought it was just gonna be a cheeky threesome, but ten minutes later I’m arse-deep in butter, Choda’s screaming in tongues, Harps is slip-n-sliding on his belly with his cock like a hockey stick, and Dhunna’s licking greasy finger-holes like it’s a Domino’s garlic dip — full Tibetan Butter Dance, bruv.”
by BikBoiCoq August 25, 2025
Get the Tibetan Butter Dancemug. Desi Ploughman’s
(noun)
The Southall site special. Happens when the lads finish a long day laying bricks, crack open a lukewarm Kingfisher, and someone (always Gurdeep) bends Choda over the edge of a Punjab Skip. These skips are legendary — piled high with broken wardrobes, fagged-out mattresses, and that one mystery fridge buzzing like it’s possessed.
Harps is still in his hi-viz, pounding him raw like he’s tilling fields in Punjab, while Dhunna’s slapping his arse cheeks so hard they echo off the corrugated metal. Manvir’s got his phone out, geotagging “Southall Broadway” with the caption “ploughman’s lunch, served fresh.” The whole time, Gurdeep hasn’t even dropped his sandwich — one hand ploughing, the other hand munching on a sweaty cheese & pickle sarnie from Tesco like it’s part of the ritual.
By the end, the skip’s rocking like a dhol drum, Tesco’s meal deal wrappers are stuck to someone’s back, and the stench of sweat, Red Bull, cheddar, and disappointment hangs over the yard.
(noun)
The Southall site special. Happens when the lads finish a long day laying bricks, crack open a lukewarm Kingfisher, and someone (always Gurdeep) bends Choda over the edge of a Punjab Skip. These skips are legendary — piled high with broken wardrobes, fagged-out mattresses, and that one mystery fridge buzzing like it’s possessed.
Harps is still in his hi-viz, pounding him raw like he’s tilling fields in Punjab, while Dhunna’s slapping his arse cheeks so hard they echo off the corrugated metal. Manvir’s got his phone out, geotagging “Southall Broadway” with the caption “ploughman’s lunch, served fresh.” The whole time, Gurdeep hasn’t even dropped his sandwich — one hand ploughing, the other hand munching on a sweaty cheese & pickle sarnie from Tesco like it’s part of the ritual.
By the end, the skip’s rocking like a dhol drum, Tesco’s meal deal wrappers are stuck to someone’s back, and the stench of sweat, Red Bull, cheddar, and disappointment hangs over the yard.
Example in a sentence:
“Fam, I caught these lot after work doing the Desi Ploughman’s in a Punjab Skip — man’s hi-viz was still zipped up, steel toe boots on, and he was eating a cheese and pickle sandwich mid-stroke.”
“Fam, I caught these lot after work doing the Desi Ploughman’s in a Punjab Skip — man’s hi-viz was still zipped up, steel toe boots on, and he was eating a cheese and pickle sandwich mid-stroke.”
by BikBoiCoq August 25, 2025
Get the Desi Ploughman’smug. Tamara Lounge
(noun)
No one just gets into the VIP booth at Tamara Lounge in Hayes on Uxbridge Road — you need a connection. And that connection is Tej, Choda’s massive bald cousin who bounces the door. Tej doesn’t do bribes, only jap’s eye tickles. Tej doesn’t take bribes, doesn’t take guest lists — he only accepts one form of currency: a cheeky tickle to his jap’s eye before the night starts. Once Choda pays the toll out back, Tej grins, adjusts his belt, and waves him straight through
Inside, Choda’s still in his hi-viz and steel toes, but he doesn’t care. The mandem are spraying Cîroc like it’s holy water, sparklers burning holes in the faux-leather sofa, and in the centre of it all sits a shisha pipe bubbling white grape flavour thick enough to fog the booth.
Choda grabs the hose like it’s Excalibur, takes the deepest pull known to man, then coughs so violently he projectile-whips his cock clean out of his jeans. Instead of panicking, he doubles down — launches into a helicopter in perfect sync with the shisha bubbles, blowing smoke rings through the spin like a travelling circus act. Aunty on the next table catches it all on Snapchat with the caption “Hayes madness 💨🍇🍆”.
By the end, there’s Red Bull mixed with ash on the floor, naan crumbs in the ice bucket, and Tej’s outside revving the VR6 so loud it shakes the glass.
(noun)
No one just gets into the VIP booth at Tamara Lounge in Hayes on Uxbridge Road — you need a connection. And that connection is Tej, Choda’s massive bald cousin who bounces the door. Tej doesn’t do bribes, only jap’s eye tickles. Tej doesn’t take bribes, doesn’t take guest lists — he only accepts one form of currency: a cheeky tickle to his jap’s eye before the night starts. Once Choda pays the toll out back, Tej grins, adjusts his belt, and waves him straight through
Inside, Choda’s still in his hi-viz and steel toes, but he doesn’t care. The mandem are spraying Cîroc like it’s holy water, sparklers burning holes in the faux-leather sofa, and in the centre of it all sits a shisha pipe bubbling white grape flavour thick enough to fog the booth.
Choda grabs the hose like it’s Excalibur, takes the deepest pull known to man, then coughs so violently he projectile-whips his cock clean out of his jeans. Instead of panicking, he doubles down — launches into a helicopter in perfect sync with the shisha bubbles, blowing smoke rings through the spin like a travelling circus act. Aunty on the next table catches it all on Snapchat with the caption “Hayes madness 💨🍇🍆”.
By the end, there’s Red Bull mixed with ash on the floor, naan crumbs in the ice bucket, and Tej’s outside revving the VR6 so loud it shakes the glass.
Example in a sentence:
“Fam, Tamara Lounge VIP was peak — Choda coughed mid-shisha, cock flew out, started helicoptering it through white grape clouds while aunty filmed on Snapchat, and Tej’s outside revving the VR6 like it’s part of the set.”
“Fam, Tamara Lounge VIP was peak — Choda coughed mid-shisha, cock flew out, started helicoptering it through white grape clouds while aunty filmed on Snapchat, and Tej’s outside revving the VR6 like it’s part of the set.”
by BikBoiCoq August 27, 2025
Get the Tamara Loungemug. Tikka Paneer Trainwreck
(noun)
The dirtiest manoeuvre ever conceived, banned in five boroughs and three gurdwaras. Begins in a Slough bedsit when Amrit microwaves a tray of Tesco’s Tikka Paneer Ready Meal till it’s bubbling like lava, then pours the scalding curry straight down Jatinder’s crack. Meanwhile, Lovepreet’s got a naan wrapped round his cock like a condom, railing him so hard the curry splashes onto the walls like Jackson Pollock.
Parmjit’s on the side, scooping the paneer cubes out with two fingers and shoving them into Harinder’s mouth, who’s gagging but chewing like it’s communion. Halfway through, Jaspreet pukes into the curry tray from the smell — only for Daljit to stir it back in and keep going, chanting “extra sauce, bruv.”
By the end, the room looks like a tandoori war crime — orange splatters everywhere, someone’s foreskin fused to a naan, and the stench of tikka, ass, and trauma seeping into the carpets.
(noun)
The dirtiest manoeuvre ever conceived, banned in five boroughs and three gurdwaras. Begins in a Slough bedsit when Amrit microwaves a tray of Tesco’s Tikka Paneer Ready Meal till it’s bubbling like lava, then pours the scalding curry straight down Jatinder’s crack. Meanwhile, Lovepreet’s got a naan wrapped round his cock like a condom, railing him so hard the curry splashes onto the walls like Jackson Pollock.
Parmjit’s on the side, scooping the paneer cubes out with two fingers and shoving them into Harinder’s mouth, who’s gagging but chewing like it’s communion. Halfway through, Jaspreet pukes into the curry tray from the smell — only for Daljit to stir it back in and keep going, chanting “extra sauce, bruv.”
By the end, the room looks like a tandoori war crime — orange splatters everywhere, someone’s foreskin fused to a naan, and the stench of tikka, ass, and trauma seeping into the carpets.
Example in a sentence:
“Bro, I thought they were just heating up dinner — walked in on a full Tikka Paneer Trainwreck, Harinder gagging on curry cubes while Lovepreet fucked him with a naan sheath.”
“Bro, I thought they were just heating up dinner — walked in on a full Tikka Paneer Trainwreck, Harinder gagging on curry cubes while Lovepreet fucked him with a naan sheath.”
by BikBoiCoq August 25, 2025
Get the Tikka Paneer Trainwreckmug. Definition: A so-called “South Asian music festival” in Malta where the plane ride over already looks like a Ryanair flight to Hell. Half off the fuddu’s from endz are there, armed with counterfeit LV man-bags, three spritzes of Sauvage, and a dream of piping someone else’s missus.
The mandem: Harpz, Yuvraj, and Gurj “VR6 swap” Sandhu are posted up by the pool, flexing topless in their Boss shorts, sipping Jameson like it’s a casual Tuesday night at the Prince of Wales. The girls: Simran, Nav, Preeti, and TikTok sensation wannabe Sharanjit, are lined up in PrettyLittleThing dresses that could be mistaken for dental floss, Snapchatting their nails while their man back home is refreshing her location on Snapchat.
By Day 2, every villa has turned into a Punjabi gangbang. Simran “just went for a shisha” but ended up on a sunlounger with three kanjars from Handsworth who took turns playing helicopter with their cocks in time to Sidhu Moose Wala remixes. Nav swore she was only going “to see the vibes” but got Eiffel Towered so many times by lads from Hounslow her passport photo doesn’t even look like her anymore. Meanwhile, the uncles back home are on Facebook typing: “Proud to see our youth breaking borders ✊🏽🔥” having no idea Preeti is right now is getting pipe’d with three Slough roadmen while someone live-streams it on Insta. If you let your girl go here, you are a certified fuddu. She’s not coming back tan - she’s coming back with PTSD flashbacks every time she hears a dhol.
The mandem: Harpz, Yuvraj, and Gurj “VR6 swap” Sandhu are posted up by the pool, flexing topless in their Boss shorts, sipping Jameson like it’s a casual Tuesday night at the Prince of Wales. The girls: Simran, Nav, Preeti, and TikTok sensation wannabe Sharanjit, are lined up in PrettyLittleThing dresses that could be mistaken for dental floss, Snapchatting their nails while their man back home is refreshing her location on Snapchat.
By Day 2, every villa has turned into a Punjabi gangbang. Simran “just went for a shisha” but ended up on a sunlounger with three kanjars from Handsworth who took turns playing helicopter with their cocks in time to Sidhu Moose Wala remixes. Nav swore she was only going “to see the vibes” but got Eiffel Towered so many times by lads from Hounslow her passport photo doesn’t even look like her anymore. Meanwhile, the uncles back home are on Facebook typing: “Proud to see our youth breaking borders ✊🏽🔥” having no idea Preeti is right now is getting pipe’d with three Slough roadmen while someone live-streams it on Insta. If you let your girl go here, you are a certified fuddu. She’s not coming back tan - she’s coming back with PTSD flashbacks every time she hears a dhol.
Breaking Borders Festival (Malta Edition) - Example (NSFW):
“Bro, why’s Rajni limping?”
“She went Malta for Breaking Borders.”
“…say no more. Gurj and Mandeep turned her into a wheel barrow.”
“Bro, why’s Rajni limping?”
“She went Malta for Breaking Borders.”
“…say no more. Gurj and Mandeep turned her into a wheel barrow.”
by BikBoiCoq September 3, 2025
Get the Breaking Borders Festival (Malta Edition)mug. Inhibitions (Hayes Edition)
(noun; local landmark of sin and sorrow)
The dirtiest den of broken dreams in West London. Looks like a warehouse from the outside, smells like Red Bull, desperation, and Lynx inside. The place where every mandem’s wages from the month evaporates faster than a shisha coal.
The roster? Fam, it’s chaos. You’ve got:
• Crystal, who’s been “23” since 2007 and still moves like her hips are on furlough.
• Mercedes, fresh from Slovakia, selling £20 dances that last 14 seconds before she asks if you want “VIP.”
• And the legendary Punjabi aunty at the bar who’ll pour your vodka coke like she’s measuring blood pressure - all while clocking your shame.
The mandem - Jags, Teji, and of course Choda - rock up in steel toes after site work, pockets full of crumpled tenners, thinking they’re Floyd Money Mayweather. By 1am they’re all in the booth, Crystal’s sitting on their lap, and someone’s already whispered “fam, don’t tell bhabhi ji.”
Meanwhile, in VIP, Choda whips his cock out mid-lap dance, helicoptering it so hard he knocks over the LED bottle parade. Harpz isn’t even meant to be there but somehow he’s in the corner rubbing his cock to the rhythm of the music playing from the speakers.
By closing time, Teji’s arguing with the bouncer because he spent £400 and only got “one lick and a whiff.” Outside, lads are chain-smoking Marlboro Golds, trying to piece their lives back together before their missus sees the bank statement.
(noun; local landmark of sin and sorrow)
The dirtiest den of broken dreams in West London. Looks like a warehouse from the outside, smells like Red Bull, desperation, and Lynx inside. The place where every mandem’s wages from the month evaporates faster than a shisha coal.
The roster? Fam, it’s chaos. You’ve got:
• Crystal, who’s been “23” since 2007 and still moves like her hips are on furlough.
• Mercedes, fresh from Slovakia, selling £20 dances that last 14 seconds before she asks if you want “VIP.”
• And the legendary Punjabi aunty at the bar who’ll pour your vodka coke like she’s measuring blood pressure - all while clocking your shame.
The mandem - Jags, Teji, and of course Choda - rock up in steel toes after site work, pockets full of crumpled tenners, thinking they’re Floyd Money Mayweather. By 1am they’re all in the booth, Crystal’s sitting on their lap, and someone’s already whispered “fam, don’t tell bhabhi ji.”
Meanwhile, in VIP, Choda whips his cock out mid-lap dance, helicoptering it so hard he knocks over the LED bottle parade. Harpz isn’t even meant to be there but somehow he’s in the corner rubbing his cock to the rhythm of the music playing from the speakers.
By closing time, Teji’s arguing with the bouncer because he spent £400 and only got “one lick and a whiff.” Outside, lads are chain-smoking Marlboro Golds, trying to piece their lives back together before their missus sees the bank statement.
Inhibitions (Hayes Edition)
Example in a sentence:
“Fam, I went Inhibitions last night in Hayes and swear down, it turned into a live-action Punjabi Ploughman’s with glitter.”
Example in a sentence:
“Fam, I went Inhibitions last night in Hayes and swear down, it turned into a live-action Punjabi Ploughman’s with glitter.”
by BikBoiCoq September 18, 2025
Get the Inhibitions (Hayes Edition)mug.