Is a sarcastic derogatory double entendre , usually made after a terrible golf shot. The key is the acronym l.o.f.t. meaning lack of fucking talent. It is best used against an unsuspecting victim who presumes by loft you mean the loft of the golf club.
Playing partner, "I think you had too much loft on that shot."
Shot maker, "No, I just caught it a little fat."
Playing partner, "By L.O.F.T. I meant lack of fucking talent, dillweed."
Shot maker, "No, I just caught it a little fat."
Playing partner, "By L.O.F.T. I meant lack of fucking talent, dillweed."
by keifermail July 27, 2008
I went to donate some sperm and she handed me a cup and said "Please manually express semen into this cup.' I was like, "Speak English lady."
"Go jack your dick and come into this cup," she said.
"Go jack your dick and come into this cup," she said.
by keifermail July 12, 2009
A really fat joint. Not to be confused with a blunt. A Keith is a joint that is about to bust out of the papers.
by keifermail July 12, 2009
A homonym that sounds like "but her teeth." To call a woman a "butter teeth" is to say her body and face are very attractive but her teeth are disgusting. It is even more fitting if the problem with her teeth is a yellow hue.
by keifermail July 13, 2009
Flatulence of the worst kind. A severe fart that is like an obscene phone call from nature. The air--dank, fetid, unsavory and far from fresh--feels as if it is being exhaled into one's face from a nuclear blast channeled through an unkempt brown eye. Sometimes the smell even tastes like effluvious rotting death- beer vomit, infected diarrhea, gangrene, and the mystery smell of the river entering the ocean at low tide, amplifying the intrusion of feculent compost. It is obscene and repulsive, harsh and violent at the same time. In close proximity, miles from the barking bowels of the guilty anus, the air maintains this quality of putrid death, although unknown where it acquired a tinge of Satan's rectum, perhaps due to fumes expelled by tormented souls asses being delivered by rancid demons.
A smell awoke him. It was a scent as old as time. It was a hundred aromas of a thousand skunks. It was the tang of sweaty underarm. It was the musk of rough anal sex. It was the muscular rot of Gruyère cheese in urine. It was the spice of rotting savorous road kill. Meaty and redolent of death with decay and repugnant rot. It was horrid and offensive and nauseating and obscene. It was solid and alive - so alive! And it was close, lying right next to him in fact. The vapors invaded his nostrils and his hair rose to their roots. His eyes were as heavy as manhole covers, but he opened them. Through the dying calm inside him snaked the horrible realization that she had expelled another heinous anus fragrance.
by keifermail April 15, 2014
by keifermail January 14, 2018
by keifermail September 22, 2009