NOCAYB (acronym for "No One Cares About Your Boner") is shorthand reminders of one of the true maxims of a polite interaction online: nobody cares about your boner. Typically deployed in situations where a party has unnecessarily brought up the attractiveness of a celebrity, or sexualized something or someone to an uncomfortable extent, bringing an unfortunate halt to normal, non-perverted conversation.
Dude 1: "Yo, man, that Anne Hathaway is a great actress."
Dude 2: "Yes, she is! She also has really nice feet. I want her to crush my balls like wine grapes."
Dude 1: "...Um, NOCAYB (No One Cares About Your Boner), Dude 2."
When you get a boner and there's no way or time to hide it from others sight. It's so big and flaring that it can't and won't go away and everyone sees it. Just like the devil is controling your weeny.Most likley ending in a huge orgy with everyone within a 666 mile radius.
clark: dude in p.e. last week i was eyeing sarahs booty it was tight, and gave a gnarly satan boner.Then, the teacher told me to stand up and demonstrate a pull-up.Dude everyone saw and laughed until the devil took over and we all had an orgy on the softball field.
tim: sounds cool she's hot.
An affliction that oppresses young teenagers. Often considered a disease, Random Boner Syndrom is most active in those teenagers who are socially awkward, causing even more distress, embarrassment, and nervousness. Happening in random intervals, R.B.S. causes blood to flow at an accelerated pace into a young male's genitalia. This happening is known to created stiffness in one's genitalia; stiffness almost perceived as that of a bone. Even when not aroused, this will occur as a result of R.B.S.
There is one time when R.B.S. is much more likely to result. This occasion is when talking, conversing, or being in the vicinity to attractive girls or women.
"I was so mortified when I was talking to Clementine and my Random Boner Syndrome acted up again."
"As we danced in the sunset, she noticed my donk slowly rise to her hip. I said, 'I have R.B.S. I swear to God!' She doesn't talk to me anymore."
"Some say R.B.S. is a curse... I see it as a gift..." said the creepy mall-rat as he ate Dippin' Dots in the shadows.