When a liberal steps outside of their echo chamber long enough to encounter a different opinion on a subject. It is usually characterized by severe cognitive dissonance, violent rage, and frequent incontinence.
"Waiter, can we get an extra mimosa over here? Karen's having a fit of Brunch rage."
"Yeah, man, Todd's outside, screaming "fascist" over and over. I can't even find his clothes.
Limousine Liberals without the money. They look the part and talk like they are elite because of their education but don’t have the wealth and power.
Drawn to activism that has high visibility but are seldom seen otherwise. It’s not politics or a cause that motivates them. It’s entertainment and status.
For Brunch Liberals politics only makes sense when accompanied by a poetry jam, public spectacle, art show, colorful decorations, fedoras and music. Look elite, bank pay check to pay check.
"BGB" for short, this is a phenomenon which occurs generally on Sundays but may happen on a Saturday. It starts with the idea of cooking brunch, but balloons out of control with a mini-party of anywhere between 5-15 people in the kitchen cooking, blasting music and dancing. The actual food itself becomes a distraction as it's more important to be in the dance cage at this point drinking straight from the champagne bottle that was originally meant for classy mimosas. Most people call out of work the next day.
"Hey Chip, you heading over to Big Gay Brunch"? "Oh HELL no. Last week I didn't make it into work until Wednesday"
Gathering of homogeneously haircut homosexual white bottoms celebrating their progress and privilege over an all you can drink event ironically billed as "bottomless."
The unfortunate situation that arises when you’re working Brunch at the local po-boy shack and it’s almost 100° outside and the sweat drips down the small of your back inevitably accumulating in your butt crack. The only way to provide relief to this uncomfortable predicament is to dust the crack of your ass with the powdered sugar from the beignet station, thus absorbing the sweat and providing some small bit of relief as you continue to roast in the Louisiana sun.
1. HOT DAMN BRAH!! My ass is swampy like the Bartholomew Bayou, we got ourselves a New Orleans Hot Brunch today!
2. Person one: “Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints?”
Person two: “Who gives a flying fuck? Pass the powdered sugar because it’s a god damn New Orleans Hot Brunch in my pants right now.”