Dance of Joy
An extremely flashy pansy ass dance that Captain Ginyu performs for Freeza when he finds all the Dragon balls.
Dance of Joy by thecefis August 19, 2010
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Dance of Joy
The dance made famous by the Perfect Strangers, in which you attempt to kill your partner by grabbing him/her at the waste, kicking at them (while they kick at you), throwing them many tenths of inches off of the ground, and finally jumping up into their lap (before they can do the same) in order to try and break their back. During this, you ritualistically chant, "Die die die!"
Larry: You know that I must kill you now!
Balki: Of course not, don't be ridiculous!
Larry: There is only one way to settle this...
Balki: Yes, we must dance the Dance of Joy!
Larry and Balki: Die die die die...
Balki: Of course not, don't be ridiculous!
Larry: There is only one way to settle this...
Balki: Yes, we must dance the Dance of Joy!
Larry and Balki: Die die die die...
Dance of Joy by AlexAlexAlexAlexAlex October 31, 2007
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)