Forsooth, friend Catesby! Yon wench passed the previous evening in my chambers where she attempted a manner of copulation quite astounding. As she crouched astride my manhood, I could only imagine the poor woman to be akin to some sort of confused jouster mounting their steed in reverse.
One who prefers to use the tradesman's entrance even when the front door is open; one whose preferred route for the delivery of pleasure is the Hershey Highway; one who packs brown, dairy and sugar-based confectionery in a Devon factory for a living; one who finds mud on the end of his lance after same-sex shenanigans.
Origins: 'The Little Book of Essential English Swear Words'
‘You can tell he’s a mud jouster.’ ‘How?’ ‘Look at his drink – it’s a half pint.’
‘You can tell he’s a mud jouster.’ ‘How?’ ‘Look at the way he stands.’
‘You can tell he’s a mud jouster.’ ‘How?’ ‘Look at the shit on the end of his cock.’