A fruitcake made by a raving bald-headed queen from West Bridgford during a break in an all-day session of World of Gay Warcraft.
What's that foul stench coming from the kitchen, Dad?
Its that bender making some more gay food. I'm gonna take a dump on Baldie's Fruitcake tonight.
Baldie's apology when he almost comes within 10 feet of bumping into someone walking the other way. The words are preceded by a sudden and dramatic halt in which Baldie assumes the petrified stance of a person about to be run down by a tank: leaning back with hands up in a "please don't shoot, I'm an unarmed queer" gesture. This pathetic and unnecessary posture is made more ridiculous still by a facial expression of sheer terror, such as one might display when confronted by a rabid rhinoceros that has just eaten one's children.
Just saw Baldie in the corridor.
Did you talk to the twat?
No. He was about 20 metres away but appeared to believe he'd just knocked me over. He froze and shouted "Sorry mate!!!"
Fucking bent loser.
Baldie, the pointless homosexual, believes that eating steak once a week will transform him from a pathetic anorexic runt into a he-man with arms the size of Schwarzenegger's chest. Equally bizarrely the hairless twat believes the weekly steak will have a greater bodybuilding effect if consumed on a Friday. Thus, Friday night is Baldie's Steak Night.
Don't go in the kitchen, that gay cunt's in there.
I know. Its Friday. Baldie's Steak Night.