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a person with horrendously smelly farts (as he floats like a butterfly and stings like a bee. This is derived from “Cassius Clay” which is the birth name of the famed boxer Muhammad Ali.)
"SWEET MOTHER OF GOD!!! What is that smell? Whoa, you’re a regular Gaseous Clay. Alright, I throw in the towel. Now help me back on my feet, would ya?"
an item in which the name or function is unbeknownst to (or has been forgotten by) the person uttering the term
“I twisted the dilly-doo until the thingy lined up with the whosie-whatsit and wouldn’t ya know it. The dingus got all gashnitzed and gashnizzled and the jobby-joo went wizz-bang out the back. Please forgive me if I’m getting too technical for you. It’s just that I’ve been workin’ in the doojigger biz since I was knee-high to a whatchamacallit and I rarely interact with you civilians.”
Thinking (as in the firing of neurons)
Usage:
"I gotta squat for a jiffy wiz in The Gran Manzana and I've been head sparkin’ ‘bout pounding that Coney fillet in a twee fire-in-the-hole.
The dewclaws are up. Ya wanna draft my flivver?
Bang the pipes by 5:00 or hold peace.”
Translation:
"I’ve got a layover in New York City and was thinking about getting a hotdog in a quaint restaurant.
I’m enthusiastic. Do you want to come along?
Call me by 5:00 or it will be too late."
A perfect girl is the same as a regular girl but with equal parts sweet and dry vermouth (a martini typically uses dry vermouth and a Manhattan typically uses the sweet but the perfect Manhattan or perfect martini uses both).
Girl: I’m here. I got the vermouth but I didn’t know if you were making martinis or Manhattans so I picked up a bottle of each.
Boyfriend: Well aren’t you the perfect girl.
A fearless mate, he would be, an’ the finest buccaneer I ever lay me eyes on. He can swing from the riggin’, cutlass in hand, with war cry to chill ye to the bone. No mortal man could fill his boots as his seabag have the orbs of a binnacle. Drink a man ‘til he be red in the eye, ‘e could, an’ crack another bottle o’ grog fer good measure. A fine figure he cut, like the jib of a clipper. …an’ the lassies, oh the lassies…linin’ up to be his conquest, like flies bearin’ gifts to a spider, they be. With the staff of Poseidon, he slay the wenches, leavin’ ‘em breathless an’ quiverin’. Aye, matey, but Todd be the one…loyal to his captain and mates. He be the one ye turn when somethin’ needs doin’. Like a shark with a seaman’s leg, he’ll never let ‘er go.
Wench: Beggin’ ye pardon, m’ lord, but would Todd be with ye.
Captain: Aye, lassie, but he already be outfit with six young maidens.
Wench: Crap-eth!
Show of approval, Thumbs Up (as the dewclaws of a canine are essentially their thumbs). This is a subtle variation of “Dewclaws Up”.
Dude: Scope those curvacious maidens. I’ll pounce the coal top with the bouncing betties. What’s your ruling on the blonde?
Wingman: The dewclaws are up.
One that flosses in public without concern for where the projectiles land.
Waitress 1: I just cleaned that window. How did it get so splotched up?
Waitress 2: ...the floss archer over there. He got me in the eye when I refreshed his coffee.