Pft

He could be the worst marine ever—he could be fat and nasty, and I could be running a perfect PFT.

"You wrapped it." / "But you bought it. Who the hell buys a spherical present? Don't they teach geometry in Germany?" / "I don't buy presents on the basis of how easily they can be wrapped." / "Pft," I snorted, pleased with securing her confession so easily, "clearly not. So don't start on me when I'm left to deal with the consequences."

“Pft, it was incredible,” said Kallionkieli, Brink’s linemate for much of the season. “He’s a heck of a player. He’s just pure talent. His vision on the ice is incredible. He can find me anywhere.”

Uber? … Lyft? Pft, so basic. To get from must-see Monte Church (where the last emperor of Austria is entombed, long story) to Funchal, all the cool kids call on a toboggan to traverse its downward sheerness. You just load into a wicker sled (their word, “sledge”), piloted by a duo of carreiros, i.e. super-yoked dudes dressed in all white, add a dash of gravity and boom, you’re there.