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A skin irritation received after one brushes against a sweaty over-cologned guido. Worst case occurrence during an outdoor party where the shirt is also removed and the stubbly chest is exposed.
Lauren was inflicted with guido rash after walking across the dance floor next to the hotel pool.
A workout which you will witness in almost any commercial gym up and down the country, but especially so in Liverpool. The guilty parties are skinny, scally males who believe that sitting on both the bench press or bicep curl machines for a few reps on each will sculpt a herculean body that will make female jaws hit the floor. They perform the workout with weightlifter gloves on the ends of their stick-like arms, and as they are usually exercising with about 5 or 6 mates, they have intervals of 5 minutes between sets thus making all their "hard work" completely futile. Little do they know that the back and the triceps need equal attention as the previously mentioned body parts, as do the legs, abs and shoulders if they are to look remotely athletic and not end up with man-tits on their skinny bodies. But whatever, the higher the percentage of scallies who are deformed, the better I say.
Hehe, look at those wankers doing that guido workout.
(half an hour later) Ok, I really do need to work my chest here.
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Guido Moment - A moment where ignorance overwhelms the logic of an otherwise rational white guy. To Put it plainly, they act like guidos. Guido Moments are unpredictable, an incident as mild as bumping into someone can quickly involve into stand downs, fake threats, and the ever popular rolling up the sleeves to show off how their "guns". usually this is brought on by roid rage. Guido moments are the third largest killer behind tanning booth accidents and watching Godfather 3.
An exmaple of a Guido moment can be brought on scuffing a shoe. Usually the shoe is bought at Banana Republic or Hollister. Since the price of the shoe is so high, the average white dude ends up going crazy and seeking out the guy who scuffed it. This creates a Guido moment.
I had a Guido moment when some dude scuffed my shoe at a club in Sea Side.
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A breed of Guido only spotted during the colder, snowy months of the year. Unlike the regular Guido which can be spotted by it's signature "popped collar", the Michigan Guido uses a scarf worn indoors to signify his faggotry with a shirt one-half size too small, as to sell tickets to his gun show. Also worth noting, this particular breed (because let's be honest, any Guido is sub-human) will have the typical pursed lips, over-sized fake diamond earring, Oompa-Loompa tan, and non-gelled Wop-Dago hair. Not to outdone by their Jersey counterparts, what they lack in spikey Aqua-Nettitude, they make up for in utter fucktardation, with a dash of douchebaggery, and a heaping load of assfaggery.
I swear to Christ if that fucking Michigan Guido moved my barstool one more time I would have set his scarf on fire had I a little moar whiskey in my system, and if somebody wouldn't have stopped me.
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The Guido dressed in all white seen near the end of Titanic. He stays with Jack and Rose till the ship sinks. You can see him zoomed all the way out standing on top of the boat. He is a BEAST!
Look at that Titanic Guido, I wonder if he got away alive?!
A guido cheeto is simply, A GUIDO (an Italian American man usually residing in New York or New Jersey. He wears shirts that are too tight and unbuttoned 5 buttons too low to show off the chest that he spent hours and hours at the gym obtaining, he spends more time on his hair than his girlfriend, and continues to "hit the clubs" long into his mid to late 30's. Often attracted to the female version of himself, the guidette.) that spray tans much which makes them ORANGE... In-turn... Guido Cheeto!
Look at that Guido Cheeto on the boardwalk... He clearly needs to take a break from the spray tan....
After many long, hard years of perfecting the legendary hairstyle with gallons of gel, consecutively tanning to reach expected standards, pumping iron until each chisel of every muscle visibly shows through your one-size-too-small-for-your-now-jacked-body ghinny tee, and, obviously, mastering the infamous fist pump so that each pump is in sync with the rhythm of the beats blasting through the walls of Sound Factory, you start to realize that you’re 28 years old and you’ve reached, exceeded and then over-exceeded any expectations that were put in front of you that day in high school when you decided to take on such an exuberating challenge and now you have nothing more to live for since you’ve devoted so much blood, sweat and tears into perfecting your distinguished way of life, so you opt for that other way of life that everyone else in the world has decided to choose.
Guido: Yo bro, im feelin good tonite bro. We gota juice up nice n get ta da club. Me n you, bro, wea gona bang mad bitches at the club, u kno wa im sayin?
Recovering Guido: I’m sorry, Tony. I can’t. I’ve been guido-free for 10 months now and my guidos anonymous leader says I’m doing real good. Sometimes I get the urge to buy more hair gel, but that’s not what’s affecting me the most. It’s when the beats start playing in my head over and over and all I want to do is pump my fucking fist so hard in the air. It’s so hard Tony. I’m learning to take deep breaths and breathe though, this normal way of life isn’t that bad after all. You should try it too.
Guido: Wack, bro.
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