A Latinised-sounding high-brow word for a dumb-arsed dumb-bunny, usually being one with incipient learning difficulties, who thus is going to spend half his life in a mental funk because he can do nothing right and the other half tormented by the question of why he can do nothing right, and so, in the evolutionary stakes, is in fact a born loser.
I suppose that in describing your behaviour you’d have to be called a cretinous-cretinalias, if only because you look so confoundedly like a classic one.
Buy a
Cretinous-Cretinalias
mug!
A yearly get together promoted by a load of ancient Spartans to peruse the equality of their youth, by allowing them to parade their prowess before them through the formalization of pederastic pedagogy via the medium of dancing; or, alternatively, a kinky Greek word not actually meaning the morbid fear of gyms, but it is quite close to being so, and which originally probably came about by knowing too much about what happens to young men in them.
Let’s go to the Gymnopaedia, you and I, it’s a good day to heckle those old men ogling the young men there, and teach them a lesson they’ll never forget, and with luck we’ll be able to ogle a few young women as well while we’re at it, just for good measure.
The ultimate state of excitement in a person’s life before a more relaxing interlude takes place; or, a very important event not to be missed by not paying enough attention to it at the time, as, in the rush someone might inadvertently miss the moment of his own death by mistake (or, what is inherent in the process of dying, the precise moment of his death), and so would find himself in a right state because he would not quite know what to do with himself next, he being dead, as he having missed paying enough attention at the time to the second most important event in his life, which would clearly be a right kettle of fish.
Die inadvertently, my word! that would be the last thing I’d do, as dying is a thing that must be done right, even if one has not particularly managed to live well.
A pretentious non-entity; somebody who does not completely lord it over all he surveys at the workplace or at a social gathering but would obviously like to, he being a sort of “straw-boss” of officious ceremonies, or, if not exactly so, something quite close to being so.
Why, if I did not know any better, my man, I’d call you an officiousnado, but the only reason I’d rather not is that I don’t particularly like spouting compound words or otherwise inventing neologisms while I’m incensed enough to make them up over such an insignificant, pushy little fellow as you obviously are.
Intellectual copyright theft of the worst kind, or passing off; a ripe forgery in the literary sphere; taking something one took the time and trouble to write out again in a slightly different form and claiming it as one’s own inimitable work as coming from the sweat of one’s brow, and so then, in some vital respect, it must be one’s own work, if only because if one took the time and trouble to do it again in a slightly different way then it must be one’s own intellectual copyright material to do with as one wishes, and so legally, in consequence, it is therefore still intellectual theft from its original owner, and decidedly so also, but then becomes serious only if it is found out.
It was not that the author disagreed with what was written one jot, as he has written it himself, it was that someone else had taken it and published it in his own name, which was plagiarism of the worst kind, and especially so since its original author had not been paid a penny for it either.
A decorative border of fig leaves; a leaf shaped somewhat like a narrow phallus, as of a seaweed or lichen; personal regalia often used as camouflage by US Marines in hot climates in World War II, but not presently being recommended in the US Armed Services for wear as camouflage or other bodily ornament, for those unfortunates currently serving in an urban jungle of forgotten dreams, or other built up areas or ethnic urban ghettos, either in the States or elsewhere.
The Marine said, “My frond is slipping,” having little or no dress sense while in his current deployment in the field, as he should have just been wearing the right makeup or other appropriate camouflage for the job in the desert of forgotten dreams.
A garlic-eating folk singer of ancient origins; as a group they generally being ones flourishing principally in the Middle Ages in the South of France writing catchy tunes and jingles in a complex metric form for court musicians.
I am not a not a man with a pointy stick wanting to poke unwilling participants in the gladiatorial games with it (and thus who do not like it up them), I am a troubadour, that is, one whom sings soppy love songs to courtly people with nothing much better to do than to listen to those who sing sad songs about unrequited love in drafty old castles by the sea.
