Green’s Dictionary of Slang News

GDoS Update #21 1 October-31 December 2021

Welcome to the 21st appearance of the three-monthly upgrades of the on line version of Green’s Dictionary of Slang. A mixture of Covid and crashes have meant that the previous couple of updates have lacked their attendant, explanatory blog. My apologies. Things have slightly improved. Covid undoubtedly persists (I recently found myself using the phrase ‘mask discipline’), but thanks to the indefatigable Jesse Sheidlower, crashes have been avoided this time. herewith the usual explanatory bare bones and stats.

Fortunately working from home and extracting one’s information from digital sources is no novelty for the lone slang collector. Things have barely changed. The database has now reached some 54,150 headwords, many of which contain nested content, whether as derivatives, compounds, phrases or exclamations. In total the last three months has increased the total of available citations by 4867 (pertaining to material in 3440 headwords). The database has amassed just under 610,000 citations since the project began. I have also tried to restore some of the geographical spread that was originally researched some time ago, but had, for reasons of space, to be excluded from the print edition in 2010. That, unsurprisingly, remains an on-going project and a number of the cites gathered since 2010 have been added for that very purpose.

As ever the update offers a mix of new terms, whether from the past or as near present as research can achieve, and a number of predates of existing terms, each one gnawing yet further at that most desirable of bones, the first recorded use. Given the irreversible demise of the original, Timeglider software, I suggest that those who wish for an instant overview of what the last 90 days’ research has garnered in terms of these categories or should a pair of Excel files, which I have made available via Dropbox and which can be found here and here. They offer new slang terms and predates of existing material. The Timelines of Slang, however, remain available here.

Among the new terms are pitch the baby card v. for a cheat to encourage a victim by betting and deliberately losing; arm-hooker n. a (female) companion, whose arm is hooked through ones own, coke nail, n. the nail of a single finger that is allowed to grow disproportionately long and which can thus be used to scoop up cocaine for inhalation; good on the flute adj. loquacious; soften one’s cough v. to render someone susceptible to confessing; gruesome Gertie, the electric chair used for executions in the Louisiana State penitentiary, Angola from 1941-91; husband beater n. a long-handled parasol; jaba juntz n. a non-specific object, ‘stuff’; lick-wimble n. a heavy drinker; the Tea-pot or the Morning Slop-Basin, London’s right-wing Morning Post newspaper and the self-justificatory male phrase I can only piss with the cock I’ve got.

Predates of existing entries, working as ever on lexicography’s primary rule: ‘It’s Always older Than We Think’ run to 226. These run from out-and-outer, in the sense of a particularly gross lie, an example of which was hitherto glossarial only and listed in 1984 which has now been recorded in 1831, to various one-year alterations, such as fine as wine, first-rate, very attractive (now 1984), clucky, pregnant (1936) and smartmouth, cheeky(1979). More substantial changes can be be found with ass-whipping, a thrashing, back 142 years to 1823, stumer, in the racing sense of a horse that for corrupt betting purposes will not be allowed to win, back 77 to 1873, and an attributive use of chaw-bacon, meaning rustic, back 46 to 1832.

For this update new material, which as ever means terms that are new to the database (and which thus may date from any point during the more than half-millennium that has been researched) has added 460 entries. Among new sources are the near-entire contents of Cornelius Crowe’s Australian Slang Dictionary (Sydney 1895, 1155 terms), a follow-up to the Sydney Slang Dictionary (1882, see update #20) and between them the first attempts at antipodean slang lexicography since the lexicon published alongside James Hardy Vaux’s Memoirs of 1812/1819. Other titles include a pair of scabrous early 19th century newspapers: The Age (1835-45) and The Satirist, or Censor of the Times (1831-49). The former is perhaps best-known for its editor Charles Molloy Westmacott (1788-1868) who as ‘Bernard Blackmantle’ wrote one of many successors-cum-plagiarisms of Pierce Egan’s best-seller Life in London: The English Spy (1825). Westmacott’s paper sold well enough but its aim was blackmail and the possibilities for extortion that might spin off. He earned a highly negative portrait as the unprincipled gossip-monger ‘Sneak’ in Edward Bulwer’s England and the English (1874), and was ranked as ‘the principal blackmailing editor of his day’.

The qualifier ‘principal’ should be noted. The Age was hardly alone. Its rival and sometimes contemporary (it marginally outlived its predecessor: both fell victim to the growing moralising of ‘Victorian’ sanctimony) was Barnard Gregory’s The Satirist, with its high-sounding but wholly inapplicable subtitle ‘The Censor of the Times’. Again Gregory was a journalist who kept one hand for writing while extending the other to take bribes whereby that same writing might be suppressed. He faced the courts charged with libel and eventually served prison time. More slangy than the Age, the Satirist is a great source of what would then have been new slang. Among the terms – whether brand-new or predates – it brings to GDoS are burke, originally to rob graves, here to suppress cover up or stifle’ by cheeses! a token euphemism for Jesus, cockchafer, a woman, occasionally a man, who permits or encourages a good deal of sexual intimacy but stops short of intercourse, high and dry, one who belongs to the Anglican congregation of the Church of England (rather than an evangelical, known as a low and slow), jiggle, to have sexual intercourse and old cockalorum, sexual intercourse itself, lush room, an inn or tavern (from lush, alcohol or to drink), mud-plunger, a heavy boot for country walking, pancake, a sucker (playing on the synonymous flat), securer, a specially made dice box that facilitates cheating, toppy, drunk and lick-wimble, i.e. ‘lick-corkscrew’, a heavy drinker

As he did in the previous update, Jim Gibbons has sent in many examples of both new terms and predates of existing ones. After eviscerating the pulp fiction version of the French Foreign legion last time, he has now been through a substantial proportion of the works of Walter Dean Myers (1937-2014, an African-American author whose titles would now be grouped under the rubric of ‘Young Adult’. GDoS now offers some 460 slang terms from 34 of Myers’ books. More than 30% of these represents what are currently first recorded uses. Among them: for air, for free, bad boy, something impressive or alluring, beast, an expert, break someone’s face, to hurt someone’s feelings, calendar space, prison time, up in someone’s face, arguing, confronting, jive up, to make a mess, to ruin, perped down, looking ,ike a gangster, put (something) on, to allot responsibility, ringy-dingy, a phonecall, sticker, one who helps a heroin addict find a vein in which to inject, and do the thing, to defeat comprehensively.

GDoS Update #20 1 July-30 September 2021

Welcome to the 20th upgrade of this on line version of Green’s Dictionary of Slang. A mixture of Covid and crashes have meant that the previous couple of updates have lacked their attendant, explanatory blog. My apologies. This update marks the fifth anniversary of this on line version of the dictionary.

As ever the update offers a mix of new terms, whether from the past or as near present as research can achieve, and a number of predates of existing terms, each one gnawing yet further at that most desirable of bones, the first recorded use. Since there are sufficient statistics below I shall skip the usual counts. Unfortunately the demise of the Timeglider software means that again and for the future the list of all these additions will no longer be available in their established blue for predate and red for neologism, but as a pair of Excel files, which I have made available via Dropbox and which can be found here and here. They offer new slang terms and predates of existing material. The Timelines of Slang, however, remain available here. (A new timeline, on ‘happy’, is on-going).

For this update new material, which as ever means terms that are new to the database (and which thus may date from any point during the more than half-millennium that has been researched) has added 436 entries. Among additions are the near-entire contents of Australia’s Sydney Slang Dictionary of 1882, the first such antipodean lexicon since that which accompanied James Hardy Vaux’s Memoirs of 1812/1819. Predates of existing entries, working as ever on lexicography’s primary rule: ‘It’s Always older Than We Think’ run to 287. The longest of these takes gravy n. (2), meaning alcohol, back from 2010 to 1870. Among the new words are gridiron and doughboys, the snuffle-grunting lay and the Collins Street twist.

While the range of material consulted is as wide as ever, I would like to express my particular (and somewhat belated) thanks to two individuals: Professor Andrew Carpenter of University College, Dublin and James Gibbons, of New York. Professor Carpenter very kindly responded positively to my suggestion that his collection of Verse in English from Eighteenth century Ireland might have missed a few of the more gross double-entendres. I was happy to plumb depths that he no doubt preferred to sidestep. His work (I have also looked at Verse in English from Tudor and Stuart Ireland (Cork 2003) and Verse Travesty in Restoration Ireland: Purgatorium Hibernicum and The Fingallian Travesty) has brought over 200 early examples to the database, including first uses of arselick (an act of sycophancy), buttered bun (a woman who has had intercourse with one man and is about to repeat this immediately with a new partner), nap (a dose of a venereal disease), snake (the penis) and sponge (the vagina). The excavation of such terms is of course all my responsibility.

Jim Gibbons has been working (for free) for the database for more than three years. A criminal prosecutor and later a criminal court judge for many years in New York City he volunteered himself as a researcher and has contributed many citations to GDoS. These tend to come from a variety of noir fiction and/or police procedurals. But not invariably: among this material has been examples of what can best be termed a niche: the world of the French Foreign Legion, the inspiration for a number of books from the 1910s till the present day. The most celebrated, of course, was Beau Geste, by P.C. Wren, which appeared in 1924 and was turned into the first of several movies a year later. There was, however, a great deal more. As he put it when submitting some 225 pages of citations:

On a lark, I ordered a few anglophone Legion memoirs (some credible, some embellished, some faked) and started reading.  One led to the next—by now I’ve read most of them.  Some bravura writing.  Much fell in the genre of WWI soldiers’ writings: not Beau Geste-ish at all. There was also schlock. And lots of slang!

Indeed. Some 500 terms are covered, and of these around 40% were a first recorded use.

The database has also benefited, as it does in every update, from the work of consulting editor James Lambert, former editor of the Macquarie Australian Slang Dictionary (2004). Among much else he contributed a substantial number of entries based on the bogan, Australia’s chav. in May 2019. This current update sees the fruits of his further researches: bogan n. the language of bogans, the bogan apocalypse n. a dystopian future in which bogans reign supreme, and the bogan-proof fence, a proposed large-scale fence to keep bogans from spreading throughout the land (jocularly modelled on the real-life rabbit-proof fence first established in 1897). It is very much hoped that his next contribution to the story of Australian slang, the role played by Cornelius Crowe’s Australian Slang Dictionary (1895), will be appearing here soon.

Update #16 1 August-30 September 2020

Welcome to the 16th upgrade of this on line version of Green’s Dictionary of Slang. It also marks the 10th anniversary of its initial, three-volume hardbacked publication. Acute users will note that it offers only two months of research. This is to link future updates to a given year (four per: Jan.-Mar., Apr. to June, etc)) rather than, as has been the case, overflowing from one year to another (i.e. Nov.-Jan.).

As ever the update offers a mix of new terms, whether from the past or as near present as research can achieve, and a number of predates of existing terms, each one gnawing yet further at that most desirable of bones, the first recorded use. Since there are sufficient statistics below I shall skip the usual counts. Unfortunately the demise of the Timeglider software means that again and for the future the list of all these additions will no longer be available in their established blue for predate and red for neologism, but as a pair of Excel files, which can be found here and here.

Research over the last two months has focused on three major sources: a 1910s Australian newspaper, a mid-20th century list of ‘Thieves [sic] Slang’ and a very recent novel, long-listed for the current Booker Prize, which is perhaps the first such work to be written almost wholly in Multi-cultural London English (MLE).

The newspaper, The Sport, a weekly launched in Adelaide in 1911 (research has so far covered 1911-1914) has the dubious role of joining such papers as the mid-19th century New York ‘flash press’ and its London equivalents, plus a number of Australian contemporaries, notably the Sunday Times of Perth but also any paper that offered a column (often a page) headed with some version of  the titillating phrase ‘They Say’. These were plentiful and used such columns to parade a succession of what were essentially scurrilous anecdotes, usually featuring the amatory doings of well-known local figures in what skated the very thin line between gossip and libel. The excuse was that all such pars were submitted by friends of the named (named, that is, through initials which were doubtless wholly transparent in the communities from which they came).  It is not to slang’s credit that examples of its use can be found spattered over the texts, but this is slang’s world and such scurrility regularly offered terms that had yet to be recorded elsewhere.

The Thieves Slang lists – created as part of training their detectives by the Birmingham Police force of the time – were brought to my attention by a tweet from Ben Griffin, lecturer in modern British  history at Cambridge. He was kind enough to make and then send me a copy of the 1947 edition. This was then trumped, most politely, by the West Midlands Police Museum, where WMP Heritage Project Manager Corinne Brazier turned up a predecessor, seemingly the same list but with a publication date of 1935. I am very grateful to them both. The list has come up with 450-odd citations, of which many are either predates or what (nearly 150 examples) to me was new material. All are available via the update and can be searched out. Detail aside, what comes across is that this was still very much an English English slang. One can see that American words – as they were doing in the wider world –  were beginning to creep in, but the vast majority are straight out of Fabian of the Yard or Dixon of Dock Green and the world of quota quickies. All that’s missing is ‘put the bracelets on, guv, it’s a fair cop’. (No bracelets, but darbies, which goes back to 1676, is there).

Finally the novel: Who They Was by Gabriel Krauze. Reviews have been plentiful and uniformly positive, if somewhat shocked by the author’s portrait of a world that, as he points out, exists wholly parallel to that of ‘respectable’ society, except for when the former targets the latter in the hope of pillaging its wealth. Plot aside – a series of vignettes that stem from the author’s own experiences and, quite deliberately, sidesteps the slightest gesture towards morality or regret – the book offers over 400 examples of MLE, with its mix of English slang, language that has emerged from American rap and British grime, Caribbean patois and local invention. It is perhaps a niche preoccupation to class a creative work by the density of slang therein, but for lexicographical purposes, Who They Was is exemplary.



Green’s Dictionary of Slang was published in late 2010. Its three volumes were priced at £300 (though amazon seemed able to reduce this radically and for a while such reductions saw it top the various charts in which it was eligible). It was well-reviewed and won the 2012 Dartmouth Medal of the American Library Association as ‘a reference work of outstanding quality and significance.’ In 2016, after many dead ends, the dictionary – as had always been intended – went on line. The initial plan was to make the barebones information free, but to ask for a subscription to unlock the citations or usage examples that underpinned the headwords and their various senses. It was assumed that this latter would be acceptable to academic users and their institutions, although individuals would probably not need the detailed information. The truth was that without marketing expertise, and support from a publisher, these hopes proved unfounded. As of October 2018 the dictionary was offered in its entirety to all users and for free. It has gradually expanded, on the basis of the three-monthly updates (starting in October 2016 when the digital launch included all additions since print publication), which are posted on line and incorporate the latest advances in research, whether these be additions, improvements or corrections.

Although these figures are by the dictionary’s evolving nature temporary, at this moment, its 16th update and 10th birthday, the database that provides the on line material now runs to 55,719 headwords, which cover 137,235 nested senses, derivatives, compounds, phrases and exclamations. These are underpinned by some 679,874 citations, 101,853  of which have been researched since print publication. There have also been many predatings of existing terms, but since these can have multiple examples for the same term as new discoveries push the ‘first use’ into the past, it is hard to make a count. Certainly the database as a whole far surpasses its printed predecessor, both as to quantity and, I hope, quality.

All of which should offer a moment of pleasure. It does, but it is also marred by the backstory. If it has reached this position, it is not through a loyal editor, a supportive publisher or any of the professional helpmates that a work that I am constantly informed is of such excellence, should receive. The reality is that I have been given no such help. Individual support, yes, and I am hugely grateful; institutional, nothing but what slang terms the soldier’s farewell, and that long since.

Reviewing the print edition, the cultural commentator Jonathan Meades said of slang that its role was not to offer what we are ‘enjoined to think, but what we actually do think.’ There is nothing especially revelatory to be added but I offer a few words on the dictionary’s history. If those concerned object, tough. I appreciate that it is, even in contemporary England where all previous bets seem long since off, still considered vulgar to say what one thinks. Laugh and laugh and be a villain tends to be the way. Or at least bite one’s (stiff and doubtless upper) lip. I cannot, frankly, be fucked. But then, but for the accident of geography, I am not English.

Forty years ago I chose the gig (albeit under very different circumstances) and come what may I continue to revel in it. This, I am wholly aware, is a privilege. (Though not one determined by accident of birth, skin colour, racial background, gender preference or any of the other identities currently so obsessing the pure in heart. Like slang, I lack such zealotry.) In any case, what matters is the database and the website that offers it a public life. If this is of use, it is its own justification. The backstory, while unsatisfying, is no different from many in the world of reference, where the fate of some of its most important projects  —  Jonathan Lighter’s Historical Dictionary of American Slang, the Dictionary of American Regional English (DARE)  are prime examples — has been to be abandoned by publishers for whom the bottom line demands immediate satisfaction and all else can be tossed away regardless. Lexicography is a long-term game, sometimes very long-term indeed, and we live in a short-term world; one can expect little else. (The welcoming line from my own ultimate publishers, landed with the project through the vagaries of takeovers, was ‘You know we don’t want to to publish this book.’). Even the OUP, supposed guardian of the OED, may be faltering. Anyone one who knows the story of that mighty enterprise knows too that relations between the bean-counters and the arrogant supervisory dons of late 19th century Oxford and those who actually rose each day to continue the remarkable work of making the dictionary were always fraught. But the OUP always came through, however reluctantly. It is to be hoped, worrying rumours notwithstanding, that this remains the case.

This book was commissioned at the end of the Nineties and followed on what might be seen as a trial run, a single-volume, non-cited version that in turn had been commissioned in 1993. For whatever reason, I could not have chosen a worse period to sustain a lengthy project. Within three years the company for whom the book was to be published had gone, and with it my pair of rabbis, as some New Yorkers term their professional ‘friends at court’. My then agent asked what the new owners’ plans might be. The answer: ‘we’ll publish…if we have to.’ That, it would prove, was the best I would hear. But I was effectively a decade into the game, hitting ‘delete’ was not an option. I started looking for other patrons (the cries of ‘No, don’t go!’ were deafening in their absence). A lengthy entanglement with the OUP proved futile: we almost reached the altar, but their pre-nup was just too demanding. Back to square one. In the end I was picked up by Chambers, one of the great reference publishers that emerged in late 19th century Scotland. In 2008 they published a revised single volume. I kept working on the big ’un.

Publication was finally scheduled for late 2010. Twelve months earlier, with new research paused and proofing proceeding, I was informed that Chambers too had now gone. The uber-publisher, Hachette (based in Paris, and who had already dumped the work once when Cassell, another of their properties, was killed off) promised that somehow there would be a dictionary. But for now: don’t call us, we’ll call you. Not until the new year – publication year – did I meet my new publisher. As I said, they were less than enthusiastic. But eventually there it was. I had a shirt made, and hosted a party – no-one else, it was made clear, wished to do so – and there they sat there amid the ranks of wine: three large, green volumes.

I had signed the contract in 1998 and knew, even then, that what was termed an ‘e-book’ would be absolutely vital. (Even if no-one yet knew exactly what such a thing was meant to be – the OED’s entry suggests that the primary use then referred to the electronic reader, rather than the texts it would offer). If reference publishers were becoming an endangered species, then reference itself was as vital as ever and its logical home, with limits on neither space nor the possibilities of sophisticated search, not to mention almost instant updating if one wished to do so, was due to become the only game in town. A clause was inserted into the deal: when time permitted, there would be a digital version. But as I said, the ultimate publishers, fearing even further depredations of their bottom line, refused to follow through. I didn’t like it? Then fuck off: we won’t publish you at all. It was interesting, however, that when I said, OK, let me have the electronic rights back since you don’t wish to exploit them, the gun returned to my head and a deal was made, over my opposition, for a digital facsimile – no revisions, no updates, and thus pretty much pointless – to be sold elsewhere. It was hoped, I assume, that the publisher could recoup some of their outlay. Only then was I permitted access to what was mine.

It took six years to launch a proper on-line version. I touted the project to business people, who naturally asked ‘what’s in it for me?’ and who who greeted my suggestion that there might be something in simply helping sustain a worthwhile piece of work with what social media would term ROFL and a speedy escort of this madman from the premises. I tried universities, who excused themselves: ‘wonderful idea, but we haven’t a spare penny’.  One did flirt optimistically for 12 months only to admit that in the end they hadn’t a clue of how best to do the job and must renege. Various young helpfuls emerged from Silicon Roundabout and other tech utopias, took me to high places, showed me the world, and eventually slipped away, nothing achieved other than fattening their pockets through my gullibility.

In the end the job was done. A young coder came out of nowhere (i.e. Twitter) and volunteered. The details are secondary and they are credited elsewhere here, but my gratitude is permanent. Which brings me to the point. If no institution has seen fit to support the work, then I remain hugely indebted to a number of individuals. Some are ‘in the business’, a number have written on line and in print about the work, and others are simply sympathetic and some, of course, are my loyal friends. I am also grateful to everyone who finds the dictionary useful. Were I less senescent I should produce a lengthy list, but I must beg forgiveness. Put it down to an old man’s eroding memory and my terror of overlooking anyone. The lexicography of slang has always been a solitary trade, but that needn’t make it a lonely one. It is all of you who convince me that even if at times I may believe it to be so, I am not merely an old fart sitting in a small room grubbing up yet another synonym for wanking.

Thank you.

[*‘Speak Bitterness’ (诉苦) was a form of intensive propaganda session (like all propaganda a mix of governmental diktat and the manipulation of mass ignorance and gullibility) aimed at uniting the peasants against the ‘class enemies’ (i.e. landlords) whose lands had been confiscated. The attacks were the prelude to longer, ‘struggle sessions’ which invariably incorporated stage-managed violence. My comments are nothing of the sort, but I can’t deny a certain affection for the phrase.]

What Makes a Bonzer Etymology?

Exploring the mysteries of bonzers, boshters, boskers, and bontodgers

James Lambert



[James Lambert is the Contributing Editor of Green’s Dictionary of Slang. In this special guest blog he has been looking into the etymology of one of Australia’s quintessential slang words: bonzer and with it a variety of associated terms. The conclusions he draws, based on extensive research, take our knowledge of this unique group of superlatives to a new level. Now read on. JG]


The Etymologist’s Art

Etymology is the science/art of determining the origin of words. As a discipline, it requires recourse to various linguistic subfields, especially phonology and semantics, but also an equal amount of historical research.

I say science/art quite deliberately as the wide-ranging field covers both ends of the spectrum. But, in all honesty, the watchword of all good etymologists is ‘common sense’. That common sense, however, must be predicated on cold hard evidence, without which etymological speculations are nothing more than speculations, and very often very poor speculations at that, not only because they lack any solid evidentiary basis, but because they often fly in the face of what evidence there is. In other words, etymology works best when the etymologist has a very deep understanding of the history and development of the language or languages involved (there is frequently more than one) and is also able to draw on considerable linguistic evidence.

In this blog we will examine some of the essential tools of the etymologist and see how they can be applied to sift through different and competing suggestions so that unverified and unverifiable speculations are sidelined and we are left with more realistic and likely theories.

One of the major analytic heuristics is analogy. The basic idea here is that if a certain sound or sense or spelling development is known to have occurred with a certain word or set of words some time in the past, then it is reasonable to assume that the same development could happen again. For example, take the relatively new word newb, meaning ‘a newcomer or novice’, which first appears in the 1990s. We can suggest a tentative etymology, namely, that newb is a clipping of the word newbie, which has the same meaning. Now, it doesn’t take an etymologist, nor a rocket scientist for that matter, to intuitively know that this suggested derivation is 100% correct – even to the untrained eye it is clear that newb is obviously a shortening of newbie. However, one of the reasons we can be so sure is analogy. For when we ask ourselves if there are any analogous examples, the answer is a resounding yes, there are countless analogous examples: pug ‘a boxer’, clipped from pugilist (1858); pub, clipped from public house (1800), rhino and croc clipped from rhinoceros (1858) and crocodile (1884); gym, from gymnasium (1871), and so on. One of the earliest examples being gent, a clipping of gentleman dating back to the 1600s.

In fact, the process of foreshortening words is a common formative process in the English language (and other languages besides), and as English speakers, we know this. This knowledge is part of our overall comprehension of our language and it is on the basis of our knowledge of these many analogous examples that we can be confident that newb is a shortening of newbie.

You will have noticed that I have given the examples of clipped words followed by a year in parentheses. These are, as you will of course have already discerned, the year of earliest record for each of the terms. This brings us to the next tool of the etymologist, namely, chronological precedence. Quite simply put, if a certain term is meant to be the origin of another term, then the first (called the etymon) must have existed prior to its derivative. This is just common sense. Importantly, all the examples of clippings I have given above antedate the appearance of newb, thus showing that the process of forming neologisms by clipping was already in place in the language.

Nevertheless, as common sensical as this may seem, amateur etymologists often put forward theories that completely ignore this essential point. A good example of a chronologically impossible (and therefore incorrect) etymology is for the birdwatcher’s term jizz, meaning ‘the overall structure of a bird’. The erroneous theory goes that this word was originally an acronym GISS, standing for General Impression, Shape, and Size, which was used by fighter pilots in the Second World War in reference to a method of recognising aeroplane types. The fatal problem with this theory is that the birdwatcher’s term was first used in the 1920s, considerably before WWII.

This leads us to the next implement in the etymologist’s toolbox, namely documentary evidence. As etymologies are by and large dealing with the speech habits of the past, sometimes the very ancient past, our only access to the way words were formerly used is if they happen to survive in historical texts. This is one essential that good etymologists always rely on. For example, with the jizz/GISS etymology discussed above, we know it must be wrong because there is documentary evidence that jizz was used in the 1920s (it occurs in the Manchester Guardian of the 6th of December 1921), and there is no documentary evidence that GISS was used before WWII. However, if, for instance, there were no surviving copies of the Manchester Guardian from 1921 – if say they had all destroyed during the Manchester blitz of 1940 – then the GISS derivation would have seemed eminently plausible, rather than entirely impossible.

This of course shows a weakness in etymological research – that is, it can only be as good as the documentary evidence allows. Etymologists, and lexicographers as well, are bound by the resources available to them. One can never see every use of a word, especially as most language takes place in speech and is for all practical purposes lost forever once it is spoken. Only the thinnest minuscule modicum of the daily language of billions gets written down or electronically recorded, and then only a paltry sampling of what is recorded ever passes under the gaze of the lexicographer or etymologist.

So, to conduct high quality etymology, one must have recourse to historical texts, and the more the better. Thankfully, these days more and more historical texts are being digitised and made available, and the task of the etymologist is becoming ever more easier with respect to accessing documentary evidence upon which they can conduct their careful and often painstaking detective work. And, as we shall see below, this can either make or break an etymology.

Another important string to the etymologist’s bow is historical knowledge, both linguistic and sociocultural; a knowledge of who was in contact with whom, of what languages or dialects or lingos were formerly in use and when and where they were. An absence of this can result in highly improbable folk etymologies, which, while often providing a pleasing story, are utterly ridiculous. A classic example of this I once experienced was the origin of the word pothole put forth by a tour bus driver in Bath, England. His theory, presented as absolute fact, of course, was that during the Roman occupation of England (roughly 43–84 AD) the native Celts needed clay to make pots and they took advantage of a ready supply of good clay by excavating it from Roman-built roads, leaving ‘potholes behind. This explanation was generally received with much interest and ‘oohing’ from the bus occupants, while I bit my tongue reasoning that one should never let the truth get in the way of a good story and that to deflate the tour guide in front of everyone was just bad manners. Yet, anyone with a modicum of historical knowledge will see the gross impossibility of the tale. First, during the Roman occupation of England, Celts spoke Old Brythonic and the Romans spoke Latin. The words pot and hole are both Germanic words first brought to England around 450 AD, long after the Romans had left. Second, the word pothole itself is only recorded since the beginning of the 19th century. So, as a result of ignoring historical knowledge, the tour guide’s etymology of pothole was impossible by a distance of some seventeen centuries. Third, Roman roads did not use clay, or used clay mixed with rubble as one of the lowest layers, not easy to dig up, nor very useful for potting. (Actually, the proposed etymology also fails from an absence of documentary evidence, just for good measure).

Finally, the last arrow in the etymologist’s quiver is Occam’s razor, also known as ‘the law of parsimony’. For our purposes, this simply means that when a suggested etymology requires too many steps or too many assumptions, then it is probably wrong, and suggestions with the least complexity have a greater chance of being right. This is a rule of thumb, not a hard and fast rule, but it often comes in handy. A great example of a suggested etymology that violates Occam’s razor is the famously preposterous etymology for the word hoodlum first outlined in the fourth edition of Bartlett’s Dictionary of Americanisms (1877), and restated thereafter by many authorities. Repeating a story he had heard, Bartlett posits that the word hoodlum originated by a printer’s error for the term noodlum, which is backslang for Muldoon, the name of the leader of a San Franciscan gang of street Arabs. This makes the assumption that there was a backslang version of Muldoon’s name (no evidence for this), and then the assumption that a printer made an error and typeset hoodlum instead of noodlum (no evidence for this), and then the assumption that from this single error the word entered general slang (there are, at least, a few examples of a single text contributing a new word to the slang lexicon, so this last assumption is not entirely fanciful). In any case, this piling up of assumption on assumption would make William of Occam spin in his grave, and makes the suggested etymology highly unlikely indeed. An alternate etymology suggests that hoodlum may be from German dialect words, such as hudelum ‘disorderly’, Hudellump ‘slovenly person’, and is to be preferred as it relies on less assumptions.

These principles of etymological investigation work in concert with one another, but depending on the derivation suggested often only one or two may apply. In the following, I will begin by making it clear when I am invoking one of the principles, but then will tail this explicitness off so as not to belabour the point and clutter up the text.


UPDATE #15 1 May to 31 July 2020


Welcome to the fifteenth and latest quarterly update of the online version of Green’s Dictionary of Slang.


As ever, some statistics: research over the last three months has added 385 new slang terms; 538 entries have been predated as to their currently recorded ‘first use’ and some 4,472 new citations – including ante-dates, inter-dates and post-dates to reflect the continuing use of many terms –  have been uploaded within  2,642 terms. In total the database currently offers 55,542 headwords (within which are nested over 135,000 discrete words and phrases, underpinned by over 655,000 citations). All this material is on offer to every user.


Unfortunately, and to my own regret, the software that has up till now made it possible to offer users a timeline of new material is no longer functioning. Nor is it to be supported. Thus it has not been possible to initiate the usual link with its red and blue tags, showing antedates and new terms of slang. Instead I have created a very simple spreadsheet with Excel. Users who wish to consult this can find it at Google Drive here.


This offers both new slang terms, in alphabetical order, and ante-dates, listed by the ‘spread’ of the date as recorded on May 1 2020 and that which has replaced it after the recent quarter’s research.


Much of that research has focused on the American Underworld: The Flash Press, a collection of the American Antiquarian Society and digitized by Readex/Newsbank. These 45 titles (ranging from a single edition to runs covering multiple years) have between them provided more than two-thirds of this update’s additions and changes. I have written below on the nature of the ‘flash press’ and some of the slang terms that have been extracted from it. Other material has come from the usual wide range of sources.




New York & Environs 1830-1865

‘Here’s this morning’s New York Sewer! Here’s this morning’s New York Stabber! Here’s the New York Family Spy! Here’s the New York Private Listener! Here’s the New York Peeper! Here’s the New York Plunderer! Here’s the New York Keyhole Reporter!

Dickens, Martin Chuzzlewit (1844)




Taking his first steps through 1840s New York City, the young hero of Dickens’ Martin Chuzzlewit pays a visit to the offices of the New York Rowdy Journal. The paper was Dickens’ creation, a nod to what he saw as the trashy standards of the contemporary New York press, but there were examples to draw on, sufficient to be known collectively as the ‘flash press.’ Flash, that is, as in hedonistic, immoral, sexually sophisticated and as a result of all this, short-lived.


In the accompanying illustration by ‘Phiz’ one may see lying on a cupboard, alongside bottles marked respective ‘ink’ and ‘poison’, a volume marked ‘slang dic.’, but if there was a slang dictionary in use, then it must have been Pierce Egan’s revision of Grose or ‘Jon Bee’s’ Dictionary of the Turf, the Ring, the Chase, the Pit, &c.,  both published in 1823 and both, of course, British. America would not have a homegrown version for a further 15 years.


Its potential contents, however, were ready and waiting.


Thirty years on, writing in his Americanisms (1872) Maximilian Schele de Vere stressed that ‘the most fertile source of cant and slang, however, is, beyond doubt, the low-toned newspaper, written for the masses, which, instead, of being a monitor and an instrument of improvement in the hands of great men, has become a flatterer of the populace, and a panderer to their lowest vices.’ Nor were need the press-spread neologisms only slang. Thirty years later still James Murray of the OED acknowledged the pre-eminence of the popular press in keeping lexicographers abreast of language’s cutting edge. Neither mentioned, but but both might well have done, the ‘flash press’. It ticked their every box.




The press flourished for a decade or so. Of the titles that can be consulted, thanks to the American Antiquarian Society and the digitized versions created by Readex/NewsBank and available as American Underworld: The Flash Press, few have survived, Their names include The Whip, The Flash, Ely’s Hawk & Buzzard, The Subterranean, The Flagellator, The Scorpion, The Libertine, Life in Boston and New York (from Boston, MA), The Spy (from Manchester, NH), Venus’ Miscellany (inching towards modern pornography)  and various copycats and clones. They were very much a Yankee creation and focused on a local audience. Other ‘sporting’ journals (best known being The Spirit of the Times, its most successful editor being an ex-‘flash press’ hack, George Wilkes, formerly of The Flash) might embrace a wider America, or even if based in New York, such as the National Police Gazette, draw in readers from across the country. The hardcore did not, nor did they wish to.


They were mainly, but not uniquely American. The 1840s saw equivalents in the London (Paul Pry and Sam Sly, or The Town) and Sydney, Australia (The Satirist and Sporting Chronicle) but like their New York equivalents, they vanished almost as soon as they had started picking up readers. The punters may have enjoyed their salacious prurience, those with the power to curb it and those who found themselves its targets (sometimes one and the same) did not.


They were based on gossip, typically indicated with a wealth of initials which, were ‘reform’ (i.e. a cash payment) not made soon, would be filled out with a full name. In Dickens’ case, his 1842 trip to Gotham was noted by hints at a visit to a brothel that does not, unsurprisingly, appear in his own American Notes. As the Whip of April 23 put it ‘There was a little dog, and he had a little tail, Oh, what a living Boz you is.’ (It is also fascinating to witness how quickly Dickens creations entered common usage, almost before a new serial had been finished.) The press posed as enthusiasts of reform, but it was the same enthusiasm that has underpinned the hypocritical mouthings of generations of tabloids. The supposedly wicked were shamed, all the better to publicise the details (or at least the heavy-handed suggestions) of their sins. A column like The Rake’s ‘Invisible Spy offered all the smug spitefulness of the most dedicated and moralizing censor. Blackmail was never far away.


The columns, usually headed ‘The X [the journal’s title or alternatively a town or city’s name] Wants to Know’, played on the journal’s name to threaten ‘whipping’, ‘spying’ ‘flagellation’ and the clawed descent of both ‘hawks’, ‘buzzards’ and other birds of prey. It was these columns, of course, skating on the thinnest of ice, that would see them prosecuted and shut down. Fifty years later the tradition persisted. Columns headed ‘They Say’ in such Australian papers as the Sunday Times (from Perth, Western Australia) sailed equally close to the wind, as they retailed the scabrous suggestions of what it was that ‘they’ allegedly were saying. And if anything Australia’s racist stereotyping, bad enough in mid-century America, was even worse.


It was not all gossip. There was ‘racy’ fiction too. Foremost among its contributors was George Thompson, who also edited on occasion. His many stories mixed thinly veiled pornography (with constant references to nymphomania, pedophilia, incest, gay sex, miscegenation and group sex), true-crime stories and a fascination with the bizarre. They were regularly advertised in the press: a quarter per book and five for a buck:




At times the flash press became positively mainstream. There would be regular descriptions of brothel dances, with every inmate’s dress as minutely delineated as a legitimate magazine might lay out those paraded by princesses at a royal wedding. Like London’s 18th century guides to the pleasures of Covent Garden, ‘houses’ were specified, along with their address, the name and reputation of ‘Madame,’ the qualifications and charms of the inmates, and the decorations, both down- and upstairs, that clients might expect to encounter. Some journals offered pictures, of girls and of their luxurious backdrop. There were lists of drinks that one ‘nymph’ or another preferred to imbibe. There were also instructions as to the best theatres to visit if you wanted to find a partner for the night: the ‘third tier’ circle of the Chatham or the Chestnutt were especially recommended. If all else failed, there were regular mentions of Mrs Restell, New York’s best-known abortionist and allegedly protected — for a cut — by the city’s Police Commissioner Matsell. The papers, like their ‘straight’ peers, had no mutual affection. It was a rare issue rare which did not feature one savaging the other — usually on the grounds of the supposedly lax morality of their editors. The Whip and The Rake were especially barbed towards each other, reflecting, perhaps, their success and the near-identical nature of their writing.


For a detailed history of the flash papers, well illustrated by a range of excerpts, the best resource is The Flash Press: Sporting Male Weeklies in 1840s New York (2008) by Patricia Cline Cohen, Timothy J. Gilfoyle, and Helen Lefkowitz Horowitz. This looks at the sociology and when  relevant the politics behind the press; at those who edited them and those who read them and those, mainly existing within the New York sexual underworld of brothels, pimps, bawds, whores and of course clients, who provided – either as informers or participants – their stories.


Patricia Cohen and her colleagues only mention the language of the press in passing, focusing on what it said rather than the actual words and phrases that comprised it. My own researches, reading through a large proportion of the titles available, have, as is slang’s way, ignored the social backdrop, and gone for the vocabulary.


Given a source that has proved so remarkable in the fecundity of material, one word leaps out, though it has no claims on slang. Serendipity or what Shakespeare’s villainous tinker Autolycus termed the snapping up of unconsidered trifles. Not in the research, which requires serious concentration, but in what it displays: the press offers up approximately 250 hitherto unrecorded terms; in addition, and indulging the ‘historical’ lexicographer’s holy grail: the ‘first recorded use’, there are around 375 predates. But had these papers not survived – and given their lurid content most readers preferred not to start a collection – and then been made available to scholars, this information would have remained unknown and unexhumed. This, of course, is true of all research: if you don’t know it’s there, how can you interrogate it. That this small but revelatory collection has survived and is now available for excavation, only underlines its value.


What it also shows is that despite a common misbelief that America’s, which still effectively meant New York’s slang generation had yet properly to come on line, it was up and running. Twenty years later George Matsell’s Vocabulum, or The Rogue’s Lexicon, the country’s first native dictionary of slang, proved the point. To what extent he read the press is unknown; as police chief he was certainly gained regular mentions (177 appearances between 1841-71).






As a  lexicographer Matsell did his own digging. To look only at the letter ‘B’ – for which Vocabulum lists some 127 headwords –one finds the following 39 terms (nearly one third) that for which, when he published, his is the first recorded use: badger (a thief who rifles the pockets of a man who is currently engaged with his accomplice, a prostitute), badger-crib (a brothel wherein one is robbed), barney (a fake fight, arranged by criminals to distract a potential victim’s attention.), beat (to rob), beaters (boots), bet one’s eyes (to watch a game but not get involved in the betting), big thing (a large amount of plunder), bingo-boy (a drunkard), bit (arrested), blarney (a picklock), take a blinder (to die), blink (to go to sleep), bludget (a female thief), boarding house (a prison), boat (to transport a convict), boat with (to become partners with), boated (sentenced to a long term in prison), body cover (an overcoat), boke / boko (the nose), booby-hatch (a police station), boshing ( a whipping), bots (boots), bracket-mug (an ugly face), break o’day drum (an all-night tavern), break a leg (to seduce), broad-pitching (‘three-card monte’), brother (of the) bolus (a doctor), brother of the surplice (a priest), brush (to ‘soften up’ a victim), buck (an unlicensed cab-driver), bugger (a pickpocket), bully (a cosh), bummer (a scavenger), bumy-juice (beer), burned out (exhausted), burner (a card-sharp), burst (a spree), burster (a burglar), butteker and butter-ken (a shop), buttered (whipped), and button (to act as a confidence trickster’s accomplice).




But Matsell’s list could have been even larger. The lexis offered in flash press, which he seems to have bypassed, coincides barely if at all. Both Matsell and at least one paper use burst, a spree, an indulgent party. There is badger, but as a verb, referring to the act of the girl in conning the client, and badger game, which Matsell ignores. For him boarding house is defined as a prison (he has the synonym boarding school), while the press opts for a brothel, with its attendant boarders and boarding ladies; it also regularly uses board, to live as a brothel prostitute. Matsell has a couple of brothers: of the bolus (a doctor) and the surplice (a priest) but not the press’ preference, of the brush (a painter). Both offer bummer, but the press defines him as a ‘a fast young man’, while Matsell has a ‘scrounger’ (a weak form of the earlier ‘looter’).


None of which is to invalidate the policeman. If one accepts the late 19th century report of the writer William Cumming Wilde, both criminals and policemen backed up the Vocabulum’s lexis. Wilde cited the book both to ‘one of the most desperate characters that our city has produced’ and to ‘one of the best as well as oldest detectives in our country […] a man who has followed his profession for fully half a century.’ Both supported the accuracy of Matsell’s lists. And ‘subsequent interviews with some of the best officers on our police force fully confirmed this.’ Still, one wonders what else there was, noticed by neither source. Nor, however, does it go to prove slang’s oft-suggested ephemerality. These uses by the press may be the first, but they are by no means the last. Serendip again:  no one lexicographer, even with a copper’s facilities, can collect everything; nor can a down-market hack, however well wired into his subject-matter, glean a whole lexis.


Both the slang neologisms and the pre-dating of existing terms are worth mention. Of the new terms, a small selection offers land frigate (a prostitute), sashay (to have sexual intercourse), zoe (a prostitute), gravy-eyed (insult offered a woman), carry the war into Africa (to take things further), give someone a striped jacket (to give a beating), grinding mill (a brothel), gum game (a confidence trick, though it depends not on speech, as ‘gum’ might suggest, but the activity of the opossum, which, in its efforts to elude the hunter, climbs to the very top of a gum tree, thus taking itself beyond the hunter’s reach and, since it was hunted at night, beyond his eyesight), nine months fever (pregnancy), stargazer (a womaniser, a prostitute’s client), twig the heel (to seduce), blow-breeches (a braggart,; a verbose talker), horizontal academy (a brothel), codfishopolitan (a native of Boston, MA, from the city’s prime product), prop-room (a venu specializing in the ‘thimble-rig’), bell-teazer (a hat, with a curved brim and crown), r.g. crib (a down-market tavern, selling rot-gut), work on mattresses (to work as a prostitute), mumble-peg game (sexual intercourse), gin depot/fountain (a tavern). If the topics seem somewhat monocular, thus the papers that reported on them.


Then there are the phrases: too much pork for a shilling (too much of a good thing) look marrowbones and cleavers (to stare aggressively), walk up to the ringbolt (to be hanged), go in for lemons (to commit oneself wholeheartedly), too much pumpkins (something or someone seen as excessive), not see one’s own gate an inch from one’s nose (to be ‘blind’ drunk), 2:40 on the plank road (the speedy payment of a debt; ‘2:40’ being the time of a fast trotting horse and plan road a play on ‘plank down,’ i.e. money), and eleven pennies out of the shilling (used to indicate a percentage of non-white parentage and reminiscent of British India’s not sixteen annas to the rupee) plus such street-launched catcalls as how do you live and what do you do in the daytime? with its inference of addressing a prostitute and the indefinable if you don’t look out we’ll get a camel on you!




As for the predates, and restricting ourselves to the 32 examples that have pushed back slang’s records by 100 years-plus, these are in their way even more interesting. They also are, or were, more examples of the era’s expanding slang vocabulary. (None of these terms – whether ‘new’ or ‘predates’ – are set in stone: any one of them may yet be revealed as even older).


From the longest predate in descending order they are plain sewing (anal intercourse) 171 years predate (1832<-2003), grease-pot  (an insult suggesting some form of kitchen slavey) 157 years (1848<-2005), pigville (the poor end of town, the implication, as usual with pigs, being that the locals are Irish) 156 years 1848<-2004), orangutan (a highly derogatory name for an African American) 150 years (1842<-1992), speak French  (to perform fellatio, the inevitable link of ‘dirty’ French to oral sex) 144 years (1842<-1986), burst (to go out on a spree) 142 years (1842<-1984), rigging  (usually clothes, but here the genitals) 140 years (1848<-1988), grindstone  (the vagina) 138 years (1842<-1980), miff (to get angry) 144 years (1812<-1956), sheisty (underhand, unethical) 138 years (1855<-1993); get the sack (to have one’s relationship ended) 136 years (1833<-1969), hard boy (a thug) 134 years (1851<-(1985), sack (to end a relationship) 133 years (1856<-1989), dragon (an old prostitute) 125 years (1859<-1984), horn (a womanizer) 124 years , (1843 (1967), whistle (the penis) 122 years (1843<-1965), bedhouse (a brothel) 118 years (1842<-1960), snork (a young man) 118 years (1848<-1966), banger (one who hits hard) 117 years (1842<-1959), dirty leg (a promiscuous female) 117 years (1861<-1968), cut (circumcised) 116 years (1856<-1972), horizontal (used in compounds to mean sexual intercourse, here mesmerism and amusement) 115 years (1844<-1959), chant (to talk persuasively) 114 years (1842<-1956), jug (a figurative sense of SE juggle, to fool, deceive) 113 years (1855<-1968), fast (sexy, provocative) 112 years (1848<-1960), eat dried apples (to become pregnant) 111 years (1854<-1965), pork (to have sexual intercourse) 111 years (1856<-1967), crawl (a promenade along the street) 111 years (1882<-1993), peeps (people)  109 years (1833<-1942), ointment (money) 107 years (1842<-1949), on ice (to the limit) 107 years (1861<-1958), wet deck  (a woman or prostitute who performs serial sex acts with a succession of males) 106 years (1843<-1949) and shag (a person) 103 years 1843<-1946).


Perhaps the most intriguing, is that for phat, the usual etymology of which is a deliberately skewed spelling of the positive slang term fat adj. sense 1, but which is also popularly linked to a variety of suggested abbreviations or acronyms, e.g. physically attractive or pretty hips and thighs or pretty hips, ass and tits, or pretty hot and tempting, or pussy, hips, ass and thighs etc. All of these link to sense 1, used to describe an attractive woman. Gelded of any sexuality, phat sense 2 is a term of general approval. It is here that one might place another example from the flash press: as published by New York’s Flash on 14 August 1842, ‘As it is not a very “phat” job to beat oneself […] he elevated his sparkling orbs in search of a victim.’ However the use is unique, and like slang’s fat, adj. (2), the term means substantial, wealthy and in terms of the con-trick noted here, remunerative. The skewed spelling must be attributed to the author’s personal peccadillo. It would take a further 121 years for it to reappear.






Update #14 1 May 2020

Welcome to the fourteenth and latest quarterly update of the online version of Green’s Dictionary of Slang.

As ever, some statistics: research over the last three months has added 389 new slang terms; 127 entries have been predated as to their currently recorded ‘first use’ and some 3456 new citations – including ante-dates, inter-dates and post-dates to reflect the continuing use of many terms –  have been uploaded within  2592 terms. In total the database currently offers 55,478 headwords (within which are nested over 135,000 discrete words and phrases, underpinned by over 655,000 citations). All this material is on offer to every user.

For an overview, with the fruits of the last quarter’s research in chronological order, all users of the dictionary can go here.This uses the same software as the Timelines of Slang. New terms are marked in red, ante-dates in blue. As pioneered in recent updates, the format has been improved: entries now link to the specific part of a database headword, its sense and where pertinent its homonym number. In addition, and now for the first time, the file offers ‘live’ links to the dictionary, and users will be able to check out exactly what has been added, and see it in a proper context.


Update #13 1 February 2020

Welcome to the thirteenth and latest update of the online version of Green’s Dictionary of Slang.

As ever, some statistics: research over the last three months has added 339 new slang terms; 200 entries have been predated as to their currently recorded ‘first use’ and some 3388 new citations – including ante-dates, inter-dates and post-dates to reflect the continuing use of many terms –  have been uploaded within  2303 terms. In total the database currently offers 55,387 headwords (within which are nested over 135,000 discrete words and phrases, underpinned by over 655,000 citations). All this material is on offer to every user.

For an overview, with the fruits of the last quarter’s research in chronological order, all users of the dictionary can go here.This uses the same software as the Timelines of Slang. New terms are marked in red, ante-dates in blue. As pioneered in recent updates, the format has been improved: entries now link to the specific part of a database headword, its sense and where pertinent its homonym number. Unfortunately the software does not permit click-through access (this is in development) , but users will be able to see at once which part of an entry has improved.

The usual variety of authors and sources have been eviscerated for this update. Between them they cover a representative selection of slang’s eternal interests. Among them are certain stand-out providers:


Matthew Stevenson The Wits Paraphras’d (1680)



Stevenson (1654-85) appears to have had a short life and a merry one. Born in Norwich he gravitated to London where he was a minor figure amongst the wits and rakes who were to be found at the Court of King Charles II. The Wits Paraphras’d was the second reprint of an earlier, seemingly more parochial collection of poems and balls entitled Norfolk Drollery (1673). This in turn was one of many such ‘drolleries’, e.g. Choyce Drollery (1661), Westminster Drollery (1671), Windsor Drollery (1672), Holborn Drollery (1673), Covent Garden Drollery and Merry Drollery (1691). Their subtitles sum up their contents, for instance Windsor Drollery offers ‘a More Exact Collection of the Newest Songs, Poems, and Catches, Now in Use, Both in City and Country, Then Any Yet Extant’. As perhaps it was, at least until the next in line. It was a long-lasting format: by the time Thomas D’Urfey produced Wit and Mirth, Or, Pills to Purge Melancholy: Being a Collection of the best Merry BALLADS and SONGS, Old and New in 1720, the hyper-drollery as it were, the contents ran to six volumes.

Stevenson’s contribution to slang include brush someone’s jacket (to beat up), cunabling (copulation), cupboard, warren and piggin and puddle (all the vagina, the last presumably when in a state of sexual excitement and exuding ‘letch-water’) , fox-sleep (a drunken sleep) and grub (to execute by decapitation). The most important is perhaps his 257-year predated use of piss into the wind, to make a futile effort


Robert Deane Pharr S.R.O. (1971)


Robert Deane Pharr (1916-92), pictured towards the end of what had been a generally tough life, was as far from Stevenson as imaginable. An African American, he was born in Richmond Virginia, the son of Lucie Deane Pharr, a teacher, and John Benjamin Pharr, a minister. His career seemed to start well – winning a national play-writing contest while at Fisk University in Tennessee, but this was followed by three years in a sanitarium, being treated for tuberculosis and alcoholism. When he returned to the world, he began twenty years as a waiter in a variety of East Coast clubs, hotels and resorts. It was at the Columbia University Faculty Club that he gave his manuscript, for the book that would become his one real seller  —  The Book of Numbers  — to one of the publishers who ate there. The publisher was impressed, the book was published to some acclaim. The neophyte author was already 53.

S.R.O. standing for ‘single room occupancy’ appeared in 1971. If The Book of Numbers (the ‘numbers in question being the small-scale but widely played gambling game also known as ‘policy’) had been set in the past, the 1930s, this was a far more autobiographical work, set in a down-market hotel in Harlem, with its cast composed of junkies, pimps, dealers and a variety of the lowlifes who lived there.  Like the real-life Pharr (‘Sid Bailey’ in the book) the narrator worked as a waiter, drank to excess and attempted a writing career. The book, said one critic, turned out ‘profane, penetrating, but not wholly successful.’

S.R.O. had its moments but Pharr’s remaining works —  The Welfare Bitch (1973), The Soul Murder Case (1975) and Giveadamn Brown (1978)  —  went pretty much un-noticed. This didn’t deny them a healthy slang vocabulary. Pharr had seen himself as a black Sinclair Lewis (he of Babbitt, 1922) and like Lewis had no problems with using vernacular speech.

Among those terms he brings to the lexicon are back-rider (a nag), carry a stick (to use or share someone else’s accommodation but make no contribution to the rent), cat on (to leech on, to exploit), chaff-burner (a racehorse), gang job (group male to female sex), go for blows (to be wholly committed, to act seriously), house of D. (the women’s house of detention in Greenwich Avenue, New York City), drop one’s oyster (of a woman, to achieve orgasm), slobbery (socially worthless activities), titty-sucking (a general adjectival insult implying weakness) and top and bottom (the respectively ‘male’ and ‘female’ partners in a lesbian relationship, terms usually applied to sado-masochistic sex).


John Byrell Lairs, Urgers and Coat-tuggers (1996)


Australian sportswriter John Byrell’s ‘First Dinkum Oz Guide to the Racetrack’ appeared in 1996. It followed an ‘as told to’  memoir by the cricketer Jeff Thomson (Thommo Declares ‘the life and times of Australia’s most colourdful larrikin’ 1986) and Up the Cross (1983), a humorous take on Sydney’s once Bohemian King’s Cross area. As the racing book’s title makes clear, Byrell has plenty to offer for the slang collector and much of it hitherto un-noted. (All three terms refer to importuning racecourse touts). There are 111 examples of the first recorded uses of a term, and a mere foursome of improved predates. Among the former are numbered boggie (a country dweller), cattledog (to talk nonsense), flum (unsuccessful), mock-merchant (a clothing salesman), meringue (a weakling), hay pirate (a horse) and such ripe Australian phrases as not give a blurt (i.e. a fart), flat as a ballerina’s titsa whole different bucket of bream, go like a crippled cat, fast as a scared possumlike sheilas at a frock sale (unrestrained)half a hair past a freckle (a minuscule period of time) and the pessimistic if they were raffling Sydney I’d win the Jap shithouse.



Update #12 1 Nov. 2019

Welcome to the twelfth and latest update of the online version of Green’s Dictionary of Slang. It marks the third birthday of the online version of the dictionary, which was launched in October 2016. It is also twelve months since it was decided to make full access free.

As ever, some statistics: research over the last three months has added 212 new slang terms; 311 entries have been predated as to their currently recorded ‘first use’ and some 2543 new citations – including ante-dates, inter-dates and post-dates to reflect the continuing use of many terms –  have been uploaded within 1682 terms. In total the database currently offers 55,313 headwords (within which are nested over 135,000 discrete words and phrases, underpinned by over 650,000 citations). All this material is on offer to every user.

For an overview, with the fruits of the last quarter’s research in chronological order, all users of the dictionary can go here.This uses the same software as the Timelines of Slang. New terms are marked in red, ante-dates in blue. As pioneered in recent updates, the format has been improved: entries now link to the specific part of a database headword, its sense and where pertinent its homonym number. Unfortunately the software does not permit click-through access (this is in development) , but users will be able to see at once which part of an entry has improved.



Last month I was invited to Cokethorpe School in Oxfordshire to talk to the Sixth Form about slang in in the context of the emerging world of identity politics. Can the two co-exist? There is much more to be said on the topic, but this, I would suggest, was a preliminary dip of the lexicographical toe.


I am a lexicographer. I write dictionaries. Of slang in my case, but nonetheless, dictionaries. I’ve been doing it for around 40 years and have every intention of going on until I crash forward into the keyboard, ideally in the midst of dealing with some particularly lubricious term.

Meanwhile I am here to talk. What I want to look it is how, in what we can surely term a new world, a new social and linguistic environment as it were, I and everyone else, are going to deal with slang. Being a lexicographer I have a system. Which means my first port of call is always: tell them what it means.

Let’s start with slang itself.

Slang. I shall be coarse and I make no apologies. Such is the nature of the beast. In the words of the late, and indubitably great rock ’n’ roller Ian Dury, who was quoting something scrawled across a wall: ‘Arseholes, bastards, fucking, cunts and pricks’. That’s right: ‘Dirty words’. ‘Bad language’. That is, is it not, the popular view. And the popular view is half right. Slang is not ‘bad’ but it is language. We, or most of us, use it to communicate. On that basis it is language as much as is standard English, as much as is jargon, as much as is technicality.  As much as is any of the variant registers that make up our national speech.

So words, yes, like any others. But ‘dirty’ words? Of course I disagree. How can a word be ‘dirty’. Vowels, consonants, arranged in a certain order, used for a variety of reasons.


Amassing a database – 140,000 words and phrases, 650,000 quotes to back them up – and thence a dictionary from the widest possible sources, I cannot accept this easy dismissal of the topic as ‘dirty words’.

Not only that: it’s not just what the words mean, but what they do. The key word when it comes to slang is subversion. Undermining, denying, mocking, arguing. Slang scores badly when it comes to offering terms for abstract concepts, but if it has a single one, then it must be doubt. Taking the mickey, to use its own vocabulary. By the way, taking the mickey is a euphemism. It comes from taking the mickey bliss, which is rhyming slang. Whether there was a real-life Mr Bliss I haven’t a clue, but you will be able to guess the rhyme.

Slang doesn’t do happy-clappy. Slang offers a vocabulary and a voice to all our negatives. Our inner realities: lusts, fears, hatreds, self-indulgences. It subscribes to nothing but itself – no belief systems, no true believers, no faith, no religion, no politics, no party. It is, for those who follow Freudian psycho-analysis, the linguistic id.


The id, as laid out in the New Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysis of 1933, is:

the dark, inaccessible part of our personality, […]  we call it a chaos, a cauldron full of seething excitations… It is filled with energy reaching it from the instincts, but it has no organization, produces no collective will, but only a striving to bring about the satisfaction of the instinctual needs subject to the observance of the pleasure principle.

Id. The German and before that Latin for ‘it’.

It is voyeuristic, amoral, libertarian and libertine. It is vicious. It is cruel. It is self-indulgent. It treats all theologies – secular as well as spiritual – with the contempt that they deserve. It is funny. It is fun.

It is also resolutely urban.


No city, it has been suggested, and I agree, no slang. Standard dictionary definitions of ‘slang’ make clear what it is that links the city and its language: the over-riding suggestion is of speed, fluidity, movement. The descriptors that recur are ‘casual’, ‘playful’, ‘ephemeral’, ‘racy’, ‘humorous’, ‘irreverent’. These are not the terminology of lengthy, measured consideration. Slang’s words are twisted, turned, snapped off short, re-launched at a skewed angle. Some with their multiple, and often contrasting definitions seem infinitely malleable, shape-shifting: who knows what hides round their syllabic corners. It is not, I suggest, a language that works out of town; it requires the hustle and bustle, the rush, the lights, the excitement and even the muted (sometimes far from muted) sense of impending threat. To use slang confidently one needs that urban cockiness.


Slang offers long-established themes. We can see them in the slangs of classical Greek and Latin onwards. The first English lists were made in 1532 and the main imagery – sex, food, violence and intoxication – was there then. It remains, even if the lists are far, far longer. It reflects the way that we think of certain topics. One might call it stereotyping since it is often in stereotypes that slang deals but could a better synonym be psychological ‘shorthand’?

Which means to me that while the social backdrop, the environment, undoubtedly changes, slang remains indispensable. It has a job to do.


Why so many terms for the same thing? In this case a sample of ‘drunk’. Because slang was meant to be secret. The first recorded users were criminals. If a word was ‘translated’ by the authorities, then you came up with a new one. We’re still at it, even in this age of digitized transparency.

So what do the similarities tell us? That the basic concerns remain consistent in slang as they do in much that is human: sex, money, intoxication, fear (of others), aggrandizement (of oneself). This – broadbrush, approximate, based on some pretty wide-ranging searches – is the taxonomy, the list of topics that I have found in my database. I am may be a bit behind in the figures but this is how things are:


Crime and Criminals 5012 / Drink, Drinks, Drinking and Drunks 4589 / Drugs 3976 / Money 3342 / Women (of various descriptions, almost none of them complementary)  2480 / Fools and Foolish 2403 / Men (of various descriptions, not invariably, but often self-aggrandising) 2183/ Sexual Intercourse 1740 / Penis: 1351 / Homosexuals/-ity 1238 / Prostitute/-ion 1185 / Vagina 1180 / Policeman / Policing 1034 / Masturbate/-ion 945 /  Die, Death, Dead 831 / Beat or Hit 728 / Mad 776 / Anus or Buttocks 634 / Terms of Racial or National abuse: 570 (+ derivations = c. 1000, with blacks and Jews leading the parade) / Defecate/-ion & Urinate/-ion 540 / Kill or Murder 521 / Unattractive 279 / Angry 255 / Fat 247 / Vomiting 219

All concrete. No abstracts. Caring, sharing, selflessness and compassion? To use one of those euphemisms in which slang, trying to be at least vaguely polite, abounds: sweet fanny adams.

Another euphemism, by the way, another backstory: unlike Mr Bliss, the unfortunate Miss Adams definitely existed. She was just eight when in August 1867 she was murdered, then cut to pieces by one Frederick Baker. When he was hanged at Winchester that Christmas Eve, 5000 people watched the execution. The Royal Navy, with brutal humour, used the name to mean tinned mutton.

The current environment is big on safe spaces, on trigger warnings, on the obsessive avoidance of even micro-aggressions. Heaven forfend that anyone should stumble into a world that might worry them. Identity politics has weaponised the group, and seems to have cast off a layer of protective skin when it comes to shrugging off real or perceived insults.

But slang is an unsafe space. It has no time for political correctness, none for true belief. Nor does it turn the other cheek, other, perhaps than shifting a buttock all the better to deliver a noisesome fart.

Racist and nationalist, all-purpose-sexist, variously phobic, if it lacks micro-aggressions then it is because its own aggression is never merely ‘micro’. It is contemptuous of the special snowflakes and their identity politics and if it tosses snowballs, they are lined with stones. It is filled with stereotypes, how else to define the necessary ‘other’ against whom it aims its weaponry, but it lays down no commandments. It is neither naive nor optimistic, it does not demand that things be otherwise, it knows too much. It is, in other words, real. Too real?

I would not pretend that slang’s critics wouldn’t say that yes, it’s far too real, and offer many negatives to back up their opinion. And I, of course, am a special pleader. But I cannot back down: for me slang, with its emphasis on sex, drugs and at least in a figurative sense, all the self-indulgences that can be labelled rock ’n’ roll, represents its users not as they should be, but how they are. As the American comedian Lenny Bruce once noted,  everybody wants ‘what should be’, but ‘what should be’ does not exist. There is only ‘what is.’ Might I suggest: slang simply is.

Call me a cynic, but to me slang paints a picture that shows  ourselves at our most human. Which doesn’t, unfortunately, mean nice. Slang is an equal-opportunity vilifier.

One last thing: slang, the language of rebellion, is also the language of the young. It works best in the mouths of those who can still delude themselves that rebellion is possible, that utopia is just around the corner, that the new boss will not be just the old boss revisited. The old know better, or should. Form alters but substance does not and we shall see more of the same. Thus slang is the property of the young.


You will have noticed that I do not qualify, other perhaps than my recently installed pacemaker, as in any way ‘young’. There is something absurd about me collecting the language of you. I am 71. Next year I should be 72. Slang however, is 17. Slang is always 17. Next year and for ever after. So I cannot deny the absurdity of my job. On the other hand, do I see any takers? I am sure those who use and create the counter-language have too much fun using and creating to sit down and write it down. You may leave it to me.

All of which, dare I suggest, makes for a problem. If I have defined slang, at least as I see it, what about environment, the backdrop to this morning’s talk. I have mentioned it in passing, let us default to every lexicographer’s best friend another dictionary. The Oxford English Dictionary, the great fall-back position for all definers, has a number of definitions. The one that seems relevant is number 4:

‘The social, political, or cultural circumstances in which a person lives, esp. with respect to their effect on behaviour, attitudes, etc.; (with modifying word) a particular set of such circumstances.’

And if I am honest, that environment is not especially welcoming to slang.

As my taxonomy should make clear, slang does not really do abstract concepts. Love, for instance, is conspicuous only by its absence. Making it is one thing, feeling it quite another. As I say, it’s all about doubt.

This is not what our current social environment demands. We are living in a period of black and white, of political and other zealotries, of ideological purities, of no-platforming, of the cancel culture, of condemnation by hashtag, the best-known of which is of course #metoo. None of these have much, if any toleration for nuance, for the grey area. Like a traditional Hollywood western, there are goodies and baddies, white hats and black hats. Which is how it should be, say those who promote such beliefs: all the better to identify you with. Grey areas are for wimps, the centrist dad, the slug and the melt.

OK. But they are beliefs which I, and surely I am not alone, find…difficult. Indeed, I have experienced my own micro version. I have a new book out next month (  It concerns the relationship of women and slang. Not in slang, that’s a depressing story  as one might expect from what is seen largely as a ‘man-made’ language. But about women as users, creators, exploiters and so on. The book, by the way, was to be entitled Bitching. No longer. That was censored too. I asked a friend, much celebrated in the words business herself, to write an introduction. No problems, until she mailed me: ‘as a woman, I cannot contribute my name to a book written by a man’. Then there was the copy editor who declared herself ‘uncomfortable’ with a couple of my comments, which  placed #metoo in a historical context. She demanded their removal. I have written over 60 books. This is the first censorship I have encountered.

As I say, this is the world, the environment in which we, at least the UK and much of the West, are living.

If you look at slang, and particularly the words that have been found unacceptable over the centuries, they fall into three major chunks:

  1. Religion
  2. Parts of the Body and what we do with them (mainly sex and defecation)
  3. Racism, Sexism, Homphobia and most recently a variety of Gender sensitivities

To put it another way:

BLASPHEMY (up to 18C)

PRUDERY (from late 18c onwards, though eroding)

COURTESY (1960s+)

Blasphemy lasts till around 1700. All those seemingly funny words – oddsbodikins (God’s little body), zounds (God’s wounds), ’slids (God’s eyelids) and many more –  really mattered. What was vital was not, as the Ten Commandments put it, to take the name of the word in vain. So no direct swearing about God or Jesus Christ.

Other religions – Judaism, Islam – were not included. They could be, and enthusiastically were treated with scorn and insults. It was open season on any outsider, whether through geography (which included anyone outside England, including the Scots, Welsh and Irish, let alone the French, Dutch and those from more exotic lands) and, inevitably, colour. The word racism has not been found prior to 1903, racialism is slightly earlier in 1880, but the mindset was always there. How could slang, the cradle of insults, resist.

But nothing lasts, not even piety. Blasphemy gradually lost its shock value and was replaced in taboo by what many people would see as the real ‘dirty words’. The physical stuff. Funnily enough many of these words were quite acceptable till around 1800.

If that toleration vanished, the reason was not the words as such, but the larger demands of international rivalries. Across the Channel, the French had a growing empire, and an academy of intellectuals to back it up, and the intellectuals created  a dictionary which came out in 1694 and claimed to polish the national language so as to reflect the nation’s self-image. A great power needed a great language. No more sniggering about sex or lavatories. Or not officially. And since the British too had an empire, and the French were the national enemy we had to follow suit. English had to be smartened up as well. Those words for sex and body parts were no longer acceptable. Wandering, exiled, they met the slang dictionaries and have pretty much stayed there ever since.

Last in line, ‘courtesy’. And it is courtesy, under its new names, that forms the underpinning of the current environment.

And in some ways, if we don’t like the new, sensitive world, we’ve only ourselves to blame. ‘Do you like it, do you hate it’ as the song went back then, ‘there it is the way you made it!’ Honest, we really meant well.

I would suggest this desire not to offend was very much a Sixties creation. Linguistic racism – slang terms like nigger, jewboy, paki, dago, slant-eye – was no longer acceptable, and became ever less so. Sexual slurs – queer, lezzy, tranny – joined them on the blacklist. No-one would pretend that such slurs haven’t carried on, but no-one would continue to pretend, or not successfully, that they were remotely acceptable.


Of course nothing’s quite so simple. One taboo didn’t stand smartly aside just because a new one had entered the room. For some people blasphemy remains vitally important, and while ‘courtesy’ is replacing ‘prudery’ to a greater extent as each generation follows its predecessor, it would be foolish to suggest that the classic ‘dirty words’ had some been washed squeaky clean. It is, dare I suggest, a grey area. On the one hand the classic four-letter words (even if the grossest of all, the ‘Oedipal polysyllable’, requires a dozen of them) have simultaneously emerged into far more open use, typically in movie or TV scripts, in rap lyrics or the pages of fiction, not to mention everyday conversations. But at the same time newspapers still opt for asterisks (and is there anything less secret than these coy punctuations?) and the terms themselves are reduced to ‘bombs’ – the ‘F-bomb’ – or ‘words’ – the ‘N-word’. Again no secrecy there, but the environment is, at least on the surface, satisfied.

At the same time, some of those who were once the subject of racial or sexual abuse, have now re-appropriated those same slurs and now brandish them as flags of pride. Nigger and queer assume a completely new life when used by men and women of colour or by homosexuals. This is interesting but the problems remain when those who lack the right still use the terms.


One group, you may have noticed, did not even then really make the cut. The slang database offers around 2500 words for women, and that’s not including those for sex workers (another 1000) and the parts of the female body. These, it appeared, could carry on unprotected. Feminists complained but there was no widespread take-up.

Now, of course, women stand very much centre stage. There is, among much else, a campaign to excise some of the many terms for woman or girl that, almost always slang, have entered the mainstream dictionaries. My own take, of course, is that dictionaries are there to describe, to show what is going on in the language, and not to prescribe, to say what is good and thus in addition what is ‘bad’.

This is an old argument. And to me lexicography must fight the censor, however well-intentioned: it isn’t up to the dictionary maker to act as language controller. Knowledge does not equal support. As they say on Twitter, a retweet does not imply agreement.

And if, as I believe, slang – coarse, low on optimism, accentuating the negative, is the language of what we can term ‘real life’, then how can we possibly leave out the words that reflect it?

The current environment would reject my argument. Real life is irrelevant. Each and every individual, and even more so when banded under the flag of a given identity, must be respected. You, like me, may see this as excessively keen on presenting oneself as a victim. You may, alternatively, see me as the worst type of old, privileged, white, heterosexual, Oxbridge-educated Western male. And a Jew to boot.

People enjoy slang. They love a good insult. Earlier this week, when the old lady in the Prime Minister’s constituency was vox-popped and declared him to be ‘a filthy piece of toe-rag’ there was a substantial Twitter breeze (a full-on storm would be over-egging it). Hundreds of thousands retweeted the clip, the likes of me weighed in to argue its origins (was it rags used by tramps to wrap their dirty feet or a rag used by sailors as a loo-paper substitute in sordid on-board lavatories?) Everyone had a great time. Then it blew away.

But slang continues to give pleasure. Which particular words or phrases score best is surprising, but it keeps on happening. My Timelines of Slang are available on line and I am amazed at their popularity. They may be a guilty pleasure, but they are a pleasure that people continue to indulge.

So what are we going to do about slang in the current environment? This irresistible pleasure, language’s inescapable exemplar of the naughty but still nice. But in truth I do not know. I suspect that for all the sounds and furies, with the amplification of social media, most people will pick and choose as they wish. If it ain’t broke, why fix it. If the slang word works best, then use it. Why opt for the standard when we have so many alternatives. This doesn’t mean that racial or sexual insults get a free pass. As I suggested, since the tide turned against them in the 1960s, they have very much entered the world of taboo, and are such found less and less in what one might term civilized society. And those who do exult in using them simply underline their own personality.

Slang, I say again, is the language of the young. So too is the current environment. How you position the former within the latter is very much up to you. I continue to watch but I leave the action to those who are best qualified to carry it out.

GDoS Update #11 July 31 2019


Welcome to the eleventh and latest update of the online version of Green’s Dictionary of Slang.


As ever, some statistics: research (somewhat limited by external priorities) over the last three months has added 199 new slang terms, the majority from the last few years; 216 entries have been predated as to their currently recorded ‘first use’ and  new citations – including ante-dates, inter-dates and post-dates to reflect the continuing use of many terms –  have been uploaded. In all there are 2463 new citations, appearing under 1510 headwords. In total the database currently offers 55,261 headwords (within which are nested over 135,000 discrete words and phrases, underpinned by just over 650,000 citations). All this material is on offer to every user.


For an overview, with the fruits of the last quarter’s research in chronological order, all users of the dictionary can go here.This uses the same software as the Timelines of Slang. New terms are marked in red, ante-dates in blue. As pionered in recent updates, the format has been improved: entries now link to the specific part of an entry, its sense and where pertinent its homonym number. Unfortunately the software does not permit click-through access (this is in development) , but users will be able to see at once which part of an entry has improved.


While a good proportion of the new material comes from recent publications, typically The Border (2019) the final volume of Don Winslow’s epic treatment of the Central and North American drug trade, the dictionary has also benefited hugely from the generosity of Phil Virta, publisher in charge of Gale’s Archives of Sexuality & Gender. These archives, which comprise material from the British Library’s Private Case, the New York Public Library and the Kinsey Report offer many primary sources, from 1690 to 1940, both fiction and non-fiction, that lie behind the history of sexuality. The material is available through many libraries and institutions but not, or not easily, for the independent researcher. My tweet to this end was picked up at Gale and three month free access was given me. I am hugely grateful.


The resource is wide-ranging, but not everything offers useful pickings. One must pick and choose and trust to one’s judgement to spot the plums. Of the titles I have opened, around 70 have been worth further research. The first being Pleasant quippes for upstart newfangled gentlewomen by S. Gosson (1596) and the last the collection of Limericks (1959) published by ‘Count Palamiro Vicarion’ (i.e. the British poet Christopher Logue) in his days hacking for Maurice Girodias’ Olympia Press. The bulk of the material focuses on the 18th and 19th centuries. Among the most productive titles have been two 1732 ‘‘novelisations’ of Hogarth’s similarly named series of engravings, The Harlot’s Progress (31 examples) and The Progress of a Rake (27) and The Honest Fellow, or Reveller’s Bemorandum Book (1790) by ‘Bumper Allnight, Esquire’ (106).


London being the contemporary ‘sin city’ the guidebook format was always popular: ostensibly promoting security for the visiting unwary, it offered a little soft porn in its rambling into bordellos and boudoirs, and some tips as to criminal ‘cant’. Whether such titles kept out-of-towners’ purses not to mention bodies untainted, is unknown. Titles include The Tricks of the Town Laid Open; or, A companion for country gentlemen (1755) (23), Low-life; or, One half of the world, knows not how the other half live (1764) (11), The Midnight Spy: or, A view of the transactions of London and Westminster from the hours of ten in the evening, till five in the morning (1766) (10) and Midnight Scenes and Social Photographs (1858) by ‘Shadow’ (16). Collections of ‘drolleries’  —  ballads, poems, anecdotes and the like  —  had a ready market. The Dictionary has already drawn on a number; this research has added material from The Bacchanalian Magazine (1793) (79), Hilaria. The Festive Board (1798) (64) and Cythera’s Hymnal; or, flakes from the foreskin: A collection of songs, poems, nursery rhymes, quiddities, etc., etc. never before published (1870) (79). The Honest Fellow is another of the genre.


The sexual memoir also has a role to play. Purportedly confessional and revelatory, more likely one more variety of titillatory make-believe, productive titles include ‘Experiences of a Cunt Philosopher’ (1884) in Randiana (24), ‘Lais Lovecock, containing the adventures of Miss Lais Lovecock, written by herself, etc.’ included in The  Bagnio Miscellany (1892) (24), ‘Suzan Aked’ The Simple Tale of Suzan Aked (1898 and a title best spoken aloud) (16) and The Memoirs of Madge Buford, a modern Fanny Hill (1902) by D. St John (72).


Then of course there is unalloyed porn. Crissie. A music-hall sketch of to-day (1899) (38) may, as an advertisement claimed, have been ‘evidently drawn from the life’: its titular heroine was allegedly the wife of a printer employed by the pornographer Leonard Smithers, but the back-story was irrelevant. What mattered was that ‘the whole work is very obscene.’ Two popular contemporaries were the pseudonymous ‘Ramrod’ (slang for penis) who in 1900 offered The Nocturnal Meeting (79) and Family Connections (19) and the wholly visible G.R. (Reginald) Bacchus whose works included Nemesis Hunt (1902, presumably a piece of smutty rhyming slang), Pleasure Bound ‘Afloat’ (1908) Maudie (1908) and Pleasure Bound ‘Ashore’ – all starring the same sexually self-indulgent cast-list and good for 40 terms between them. Bacchus (1873-1945) dropped out of Oxford and worked as a freelance arts reviewer before gravitating into the world of Leonard Smithers, both pornographer and publisher of such exotics as Aubrey Beardsley. The writer also pursued a double life, mixing his smutty outpourings with what Jack Smithers, son of Leonard, recalled as as ‘the most goody-goody stories for a prominent religious weekly’.


Perhaps the most intersting find of all is not, other than in its sharing of a number of popular obscenities, a piece of pornography but The German Prisoner (1930) by the British novelist James Hanley (29). Far tougher both in its imagery and its vocabulary than better-known chronicles of World War I such as Goodbye to All That or the punningly titled  Her Privates We, Hanley’s novella was printed privately and, like another of the author’s books, Boy, duly banned. Among its slang terms are backscuttle, bugger all, fuck you! johnny rollocks, shithouse and sodding. The trenches had been tough, but its language, doubtless extreme in situ, had usually been left where it fell.


Update #10: 30 April 2019


Welcome to the tenth and latest update of the online version of Green’s Dictionary of Slang.


As ever, some statistics: research over the last three months has added 265 new slang terms, the majority from the last few years; 135 entries have been predated as to their currently recorded ‘first use’ and  new citations – including ante-dates, inter-dates and post-dates to reflect the continuing use of many terms –  have been uploaded. In all there are 2329 new citations, appearing under 1565 headwords. In total the database currently offers 55,213 headwords (within which are nested over 133,000 discrete words and phrases, underpinned by approximately 640,000 citations). All this material is on offer to every user.


For an overview, with the fruits of the last quarter’s research in chronological order, all users of the dictionary can go here.This uses the same software as the Timelines of Slang. New terms are marked in red, ante-dates in blue. As pionered in recent updates, the format has been improved: entries now link to the specific part of an entry, its sense and where pertinent its homonym number. Unfortunately the software does not permit click-through access (this is in development) , but users will be able to see at once which part of an entry has improved.


As usual the research has focused largely on newspaper databases, notably those held by the British Library, the US Library of Congress and, for Australia, Trove. These, by their nature, tend to look backwards in time, but there is also an on-going accretion of up-to-date slang. Individual ‘contributors’ include four more works by the late Robert G. Barrett, a hugely popular Australian author and creator of his hero Les Norton, two from America’s Stephen Mack Jones (August Snow and Lives Laid Away), Nico Walker’s Cherry and from Joe Lansdale (best know for his Hap and Leonard stories) Leather Maiden. Older texts include the prolific Nina Wilcox Putnam’s West Broadway and from journalist and scriptwriter Ben Hecht (celebrated for the play, latterly movie The Front Page) A Thousand and One Afternoons, a selection of his columns in the Chicago press. Plain or Ringlets, another novel by Robert Surtees, already well represented, adds to his world of rural society and the fox-hunting it enjoys. Finally, the late 17th century’s pleasingly titled Catalogue of Jilts, cracks, prostitutes, night-walkers…and others of the linnen-lifting tribe.


The primary single contribution comes from contributing editor James Lambert who has looked more extensively than any other researcher at the multiplicity of terms that have been created around Australia’s bogan, a socially derided class which in local terms is the current synonym for the earlier hoon or ocker, and in the wider world, of the chav. The full entries, with usage examples, are to be found here, but for those who would enjoy a summation we can offer the following:


■ anti-bogan adj. antagonistic towards bogans or the bogan lifestyle; not bogan in style or manner. ■ boganacious adj. bogan to an extreme extent, i.e. ‘bodaciously bogan’. ■ boganaire n. [bogan + SE millionaire] a very wealthy bogan, also attrib. ■ boganalian adj. [bogan + Australia] in context of Australia conceived of as a land of bogans. ■ boganality n. bogan behaviour and mentality; ‘bogan-ness’. ■ Boganator n. a fantasy super-robot which has the characteristics of the bogan and Hollywood’s Terminator; used to identify as an uber-bogan to satirise bogan lifestyles; also attrib. ■ bogandom n. the world of bogans; bogans collectively. ■ boganese n. the highly colloquial and slangy style of speech used by bogans. ■ boganesque adj.bogan-like; somewhat bogan. ■ boganette n. a female bogan. ■ boganfest n. an event at which many bogans are present; also attrib. ■ boganfy v. to imbue with bogan-ness. ■ boganhood n. the state or quality of being a bogan. ■ boganic adj. bogan in nature, bogan-like. ■ boganify v. to imbue with bogan-ness; to stereotype as a bogan. ■ boganification n. the process of rendering a place or person characteristic of a bogan mentality or style. ■ boganise v. to imbue with bogan-ness, e.g. in customizing an automobile, thus boganised. ■ boganisation n. imbuing with bogan values and styles. ■ boganish adj. casual, unfocussed. ■ boganism n. bogan behaviour, the bogan aesthetic. ■ boganista n. [bogan + fashionista] a ‘fashionable’ and/or glamorous female bogan; also attrib. ■ boganistan n. a notional place that is primarily inhabited by those who qualify as bogans. ■ boganistic adj. bogan in nature, bogan-like; thus boganistical, boganistically. ■ boganite n. var. on bogan. ■ boganitis n. a mythical ‘disease’ whereby the bogan aesthetic is communicable to the unwary. ■ boganity n. the state of being a bogan; bogan-ness. ■ Boganland n. Australia; any area with a high population density of bogans. ■ boganless adj. free of bogans. ■ boganmobile n. any vehicle favoured by bogans, especially a customized classic Australian car. ■ boganness n. the state of being a bogan. ■ boganing n. behaving like a bogan. ■ boganocracy n. bogans as a political force or ruling power. ■ boganology n. often joc. the academic study of bogans or boganness; thus adj. boganological, boganologist. ■ boganophile n. one who loves bogans; thus boganophilia. ■ boganophobe n. (also boganophobic) one who is (irrationally) hostile towards bogans; thus boganophobia, n. hostility towards bogans, boganophobicadj. hostile towards bogans. ■ boganopolis n. any place with a high population density of bogans. ■ boganosity n. (also boganocity) the bogan aesthetic; the essence of bogan behaviour. ■ boganry n. bogan behaviour, the bogan lifestyle. ■ Boganville n. (also Bogansville) a major agglomeration of bogans, sometimes applied to an entire town or city. ■ Boganvillean.(also Boganvillia, Boganvilia Street) [pun on Bougainvillea, a common garden creeper] a var. of previous, a major agglomeration of bogans, sometimes applied to an entire town or city, thus boganvillian. ■ bogany adj. bogan in nature; typical of a bogan. ■ brogan n. [bro + bogan] a fellow bogan; a bogan who is a brother or a ‘bro’; a sibling who is a bogan. ■ fauxgan n. [Fr. faux, false/fake + bogan] a phony bogan, usu. middle or upper-middle class; one who merely pretends to the type.
In compounds:
□ bogan army n. a large gathering or group of bogans, e,.g. as football fans; bogans as a social unit. □ bogan band n. any music group, especially hard rock or Oz rock, traditionally favoured by bogans. □ bogan boy n. a young male bogan; a demeaning ad hoc nickname for someone behaving like a bogan. □ bogan brew n. any type of beer favoured by bogans, especially traditional Australian mass-produced lagers. □ bogan central n. a place with a high population density of bogans. □ bogan champagne n. one of a variety of drinks, typically inexpensive and sugary, favoured by bogans. □ bogan chariot n. any vehicle make or type stereotyped as being driven by bogans. □ bogan chic n. bogan style or fashion of choice. □ bogan chick n. a female bogan. □ bogan city n. a city or town with a high population density of bogans; a fig. ‘city of bogans’. □ Bogan Day n. 1  a fictional day on which boganism is celebrated. 2  Australia Day (26th January). □ bogan dust n. 1  (also the bogans) any narcotic or recreational drug that comes in powder form, esp. methamphetamine (rather than the more expensive cocaine). 2  small pieces of broken glass that accumulate on the side of a road or highway [the assumption being that these are from broken bottles tossed out of vehicles]. 3 (also BD) instant coffee. □ bogan girl n. a female bogan. □ bogan heaven n. any place especially loved by bogans. □ bogan juice n. any drink favoured by bogans, e.g. bourbon whiskey and coca-cola. □ bogan magnet n. a place or event that attracts bogans. □ bogan name n. a given name considered indicative of the parents’ bogan lifestyle; typically with unconventional spelling, and often a surname used as a first name. □ bogan slogan n. an expression, aphorism, motto, or the like, expressing bogan sentiments or attitudes, often found as a tattoo. □ ex-bogan n. a person who used to be a bogan; one who eschews their former bogan identity. □ inner bogan n. a bogan personality that resides within all Australians whether externally noticeable or not. □ non-bogan n. one who does not espouse bogan values. Finally □ Violent Bogan, n. one of the multiple alternatives for Victoria Bitter beer.
In phrases:
■ bogan it up v. to behave or act as a bogan. ■ bogan-spot v. (also bogan-watch) to spend one’s leisure time watching bogans, thus bogan-spotting. ■ bogan up vtr. to customize or decorate a vehicle in a manner that appeals to bogans. 2  vi. to adopt the persona and/or dress of a bogan. ■ cashed-up bogan n. (also CUB) (Aus.) a uncultured but well-off individual who spends money on bad taste, trashy, gaudy merchandise. ■ de-bogan v. to purge oneself or another of bogan style or influence. ■ out-bogan v. to outdo another bogan in one’s own boganness.
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