Homie Sandwich
Homie Sandwich by Homiesexual135 February 7, 2022
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Howie Sandwich
Whatever sexual innuendo grosses you out the most is your "Howie Sandwich". It's that one spectacularly disgusting sexual reference that has been burned into your brain in a way that you are never the same person again. It's a sexual innuendo that is so crazy and odd that you won't ever forget it - even though normal people would pretty much give anything if they could forget it. Discovering the next "Howie Sandwich" is a game only the bravest perverts will play. It's the perfect phrase to describe what your favorite dirty minded friend would like for dinner. The phrase is derived from the mental image obtained when "Howie" is sandwiched between two broads.
Go home with that fucktard? Are you kidding me? Who knows what he'll do to me! He's a Howie Sandwich!
Howie Sandwich by Shannon Maynard May 24, 2018
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breatharian
breatharian by leena gabor November 8, 2005
Word of the Day on June 3, 2026
A Booger In The Nose Of Progress
"Militarily, that inquest was a booger in the nose of progress."
or
"As far as human rights are concerned, this political infighting is a booger in the nose of progress."
or
"As far as human rights are concerned, this political infighting is a booger in the nose of progress."
A Booger In The Nose Of Progress by Rok'n'rol Wannabe October 19, 2006
Word of the Day on June 2, 2026
fogey
Fogey/fogy /fougi/ sl. (early 18C+, orig. Scot) old-fashioned, stuck-in-the mud.
Person with old fashioned ideas which he is unwilling to change: Come to the disco and stop being such an old fogey!
Person with old fashioned ideas which he is unwilling to change: Come to the disco and stop being such an old fogey!
You think me an old fogeyand an old tory, his thoughtful voice said. I saw three generations since O’Connel’s time. I remember the famine. Do you know that the orange lodges agitated for repeal of the union twenty years before O’Connel did or before the prelates of your communion denounced him as a demagogue? You fenians forget some things. (James Joyce, Ulysses. Penguin Books,1992. p. 38)