from The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, 4th Edition

  • n. Variant of fetor.

from Wiktionary, Creative Commons Attribution/Share-Alike License

  • n. Alternative spelling of fœtor.

from WordNet 3.0 Copyright 2006 by Princeton University. All rights reserved.

  • n. a distinctive odor that is offensively unpleasant


Sorry, no etymologies found.


  • Nope, this is a day you wish he'd written a long, whiny letter to his aunts about those bastard Syrians next door, or maybe just spent the day inventing new spellings for "foetor" or patronizingly explaining Nietzsche to Frank Belknap Long.

    Kenneth Hite's Journal

  • Of greatest concern to me was a certain unmistakable foetor—that same dusty, sepulchral stench from my dream!

    Abomination at the Shilkie

  • That is before we even begin to contemplate how we might view the character of this individual, who permanently carries with him the foetor of the dung heap.

    Archive 2008-10-26

  • Anyone can imitate him, in mediocre fashion, by tossing around words like "glabrous" and "foetor."

    Boing Boing

  • Exitque de illo per totum ignis obscuratus fumo, et foetor, tantus, quòd per magnum spatium viæ pessimam vallem infectat.

    The Voyages and Travels of Sir John Mandeville

  • Exitque de illo per totum ignis obscuratus fumo, et foetor, tantus, qu騞 per magnum spatium vi� pessimam vallem infectat.

    The Principal Navigations, Voyages, Traffiques and Discoveries of the English Nation

  • Contributing to this foetor was the smell emanating from the table, whose surface was littered with the vestiges of various meals—the decaying fragments of a catfish; the partially gnawed disjecta membra of a chicken; a beef bone to which waxy gobbets of congealed fat continued to cling.


  • As they approached, cautious, ready for anything, Joanna was conscious of the nauseating foetor of decay that hung in the raw air.

    The Silicon Mage

  • The foetor of decay hung over the town, clogging her throat like putrid dust.

    The Silicon Mage

  • The terror of what he had seen there now exploded out of his unconscious into a madness of clutching, leathery fingers and ivory nails, and the foetor of dead breath.

    The Hunger


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  • Eight hours later, the sun is rising, and I really should not have read so much H.P. Lovecraft...

    January 14, 2010