172 definitions by Cap'n Bullmoose
by Cap'n Bullmoose April 23, 2005
by Cap'n Bullmoose April 23, 2005
The mating call of the corn holing faggot.
When one poofter hears another one fart, he responds, either with a fart of his own or verbally.
Rowdy Texas poofters call out "Chow Time!"
High-class poofters say, "Dinner Call!"
When one poofter hears another one fart, he responds, either with a fart of his own or verbally.
Rowdy Texas poofters call out "Chow Time!"
High-class poofters say, "Dinner Call!"
Not wanting to waste a lot of time talking, Armistead traipsed into a gay bar, lifted his leg a trifle, and blasted out a tremendous fart. The stentorian trumpet call echoed through the room and drew many approving glances.
Tex hollered "Hot damn! He's brought out the big guns!"
Lemony minced over to Armistead, bent over, and spoke sweet words to his arse:
Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert
That from Heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.
He inhaled through his nose, loud and long, then continued,
Like a rose embowered
In its own green leaves,
By warm winds deflowered,
Till the scent it gives.
"You'll do fine," said Armistead as he took Lemony's fluttering wrist and escorted him from the bar.
Tex hollered "Hot damn! He's brought out the big guns!"
Lemony minced over to Armistead, bent over, and spoke sweet words to his arse:
Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert
That from Heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.
He inhaled through his nose, loud and long, then continued,
Like a rose embowered
In its own green leaves,
By warm winds deflowered,
Till the scent it gives.
"You'll do fine," said Armistead as he took Lemony's fluttering wrist and escorted him from the bar.
by Cap'n Bullmoose November 11, 2006
There once was a man from Boston
Who bought himself a new Austin.
There was room for his ass
And a gallon of gas
But his balls hung out and he lost 'em.
(Pardon the misspelling of "arse"; this appears to be a Yank rhyme.)
Who bought himself a new Austin.
There was room for his ass
And a gallon of gas
But his balls hung out and he lost 'em.
(Pardon the misspelling of "arse"; this appears to be a Yank rhyme.)
by Cap'n Bullmoose April 30, 2005
A liberal twit who always knows the deep psychological reasons behind other peoples' beliefs and behaviors. Junior Psychologists come out of their holes to make their pronouncements in college dormatories, in letters to the editor, and in discussions. Like all liberal twits, Junior Psychologists know what is best for you and me, and never miss an opportunity to tell us so.
Fenton is a Junior Psychologist. She knows -- she absolutely KNOWS! -- that all men who drive four-wheel-drive vehicles do so because they subconsciously worry that their penises are not large enough. They buy four-wheel-drives to display as a large penis substitute. She can't conceive of a man -- or woman -- who wants a four-wheel-drive vehicle to explore the wondrous outback of America.
Fenton knows -- she absolutely KNOWS! -- that all men who do not vote for Quean Hillary do so because they are misogynist, sexist pigs and would feel emasculated if a woman was their leader. She can't imagine that their are 72 million women better-qualified to be President than Quean Hillary, and that most men would vote for one of them.
Fenton knows -- she absolutely KNOWS! -- that all men who own guns do so because they subconsciously fear that their penises are not long enough. They buy guns to substitute for a short penis. She can't imagine that men -- and also women -- own guns to hunt, and to shoot targets, beer cans, greasy-haired Pachuco Boys, and wimpy-ass liberals who want to take their rights away.
Fenton knows -- she absolutely KNOWS! -- that all men who are not limp-wristed liberal mush wimps are not because they "have issues" (as she likes to say) with having their bottoms wiped the wrong way when they were infants. She can't imagine that some people do not like paying taxes for sissy liberal social programs, socialist medicine, towing the politically correct party line, or being forced to tolerate the putrid behavior of A-Rabs, panhandlers, and mincing poofters.
Fenton knows -- she absolutely KNOWS! -- that men who do not like poofters are subconsciously afraid of their own hidden homosexual feelings. She can't imagine that any people are real men who are attracted to women and who find mincing, prancing, doing dangle dances, playing circle jerk, corn holing, and squealing "weeee" to be insipid, disgusting, perverted, and nasty.
Fenton knows -- she absolutely KNOWS! -- that men who do not like Greasy Haired Pachucos challenging them when they walk down the sidewalk have unresolved authority issues and harbor deep-seated racial hatred for people with dark hair and brown eyes. She can't conceive of a man who will defend his right to walk in public without being challenged by a greasy punk.
Fenton, as you can see, knows absolutely nothing. She is nothing but an arrogant, whining, snot-nosed liberal soccer mom who doesn't know Jack Shit.
Fenton knows -- she absolutely KNOWS! -- that all men who do not vote for Quean Hillary do so because they are misogynist, sexist pigs and would feel emasculated if a woman was their leader. She can't imagine that their are 72 million women better-qualified to be President than Quean Hillary, and that most men would vote for one of them.
Fenton knows -- she absolutely KNOWS! -- that all men who own guns do so because they subconsciously fear that their penises are not long enough. They buy guns to substitute for a short penis. She can't imagine that men -- and also women -- own guns to hunt, and to shoot targets, beer cans, greasy-haired Pachuco Boys, and wimpy-ass liberals who want to take their rights away.
Fenton knows -- she absolutely KNOWS! -- that all men who are not limp-wristed liberal mush wimps are not because they "have issues" (as she likes to say) with having their bottoms wiped the wrong way when they were infants. She can't imagine that some people do not like paying taxes for sissy liberal social programs, socialist medicine, towing the politically correct party line, or being forced to tolerate the putrid behavior of A-Rabs, panhandlers, and mincing poofters.
Fenton knows -- she absolutely KNOWS! -- that men who do not like poofters are subconsciously afraid of their own hidden homosexual feelings. She can't imagine that any people are real men who are attracted to women and who find mincing, prancing, doing dangle dances, playing circle jerk, corn holing, and squealing "weeee" to be insipid, disgusting, perverted, and nasty.
Fenton knows -- she absolutely KNOWS! -- that men who do not like Greasy Haired Pachucos challenging them when they walk down the sidewalk have unresolved authority issues and harbor deep-seated racial hatred for people with dark hair and brown eyes. She can't conceive of a man who will defend his right to walk in public without being challenged by a greasy punk.
Fenton, as you can see, knows absolutely nothing. She is nothing but an arrogant, whining, snot-nosed liberal soccer mom who doesn't know Jack Shit.
by Cap'n Bullmoose April 26, 2008
by Cap'n Bullmoose April 30, 2005
by Cap'n Bullmoose April 23, 2005