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A naval man born for the seas who likes nothing more than to moor his vessel in another mans port.
"Saw Craig and john walk down the alleyway together"
"Yeah they're a pair of canal pirates Jim lad"
i can't believe that chick popped that ugly looking fucker out of here slut canal
The red-light district of Venice
Dad: I met your Mother in Venice...
Son: (please don't say in the Root Canal!)
Dad: ..in an area called the Root Canal
Son: aaaahhhhhh faaarrrrrkkkk
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Taking a shit in your companions nostril then blowing as hard as you can into the other nostril until the shit leave out of her mouth
Hey babe let’s get dirty, let’s make a brown canal
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Any person who originates or lives in Italy, more specifically in the city of Venice. Also can be referred to as a Canal Kid.
Hey look at that Canal Monkey walking down the street. Bet his parents own a pizza place too.
The Canal Monkey's signed a bad deal with Hitler in World War II.
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Canal Pal is generally a homosexual male that frequents the C/O canal hiking/biking path along the Potomac River in the DC area. Often found in pairs. Generally flamboyantly gay only exemplified by the power walking methods they use. One can normally recognize if they are out by the number of salmon colored Mazda Miatas or Honde Del Sols found in the parking lots near the canal.
"The fucking parling lot is full of fag wagons!!! Bet the tow path is crawling with god damn canal pals"
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A popular nickname for a not-so-popular company.
Traversing their way around the nether-regions of the UK is Canal Coaches. Offering shite service is simply not enough for Canal's; shite value, shite busses and an appalling safety record combine to make Canal's one of the least-like companies in the history of Lincolnshire transport. Even more so than Microsoft, I believe.
Canal's vehicles, bought in 1969 and not serviced since, have become some-what of a laughing point. You don't actually have to see the company livery to recognise a Canal's vehicle, the plumes of black smoke, the door that won't shut and the squelling fan-belt give it away well before that.
To give you an impression of what a Canal's coach is like to ride on, just imagine sitting on the manifold of a full-reving 1950's diesel engine, while listening to Steps and trying to ignore the vomit stain that is caked to the back of the seat in front. Nice, I'm sure you'll agree.
Complimenting Canal's appalling busses are Canal's appalling drivers. Beauty is not important for a Canal's driver, since any mention of the words 'Canal's Coaches' are sure to distrupt any courting ritual. A sense of direction, or, for that matter, an ounce of intelligence, are not important, since the boss doesn't know himself what the word 'Contract' means.
Canal's not-so-impressive safety record is also laughable. The frequency of accidents is somewhat alarming, the odd wheel falling off during a journey is not uncommon, and neither is the fire-escape randomly opening as you are going down a motor-way. Telling the driver that their is oil pouring out of the back of his bus is pointless, since he won't do anything, and even if Canal's could afford some oil, they'd only pour it down the drain anyway.
"I rode on a bus owned by Canal Coaches last night- the driver fucked my wife and the bus seat ate my wallet"
"The roar of the engine was enormous- shame it was because the exhausht had fallen off"
"I'd like to purchase a ticket to Hell please"
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