Some old timers might say I’m gettin’ above my raisin’ or speaking out of hat here, but if that’s their poison, I won’t pay it no nevermind. In fact, I’ll hang out the welcome mat and say hell yeah. It makes me sad that so many of the once-common sayings from this part of the world are becoming scarcer than hen’s teeth these days.

Experts in linguistics blame technology–mostly television–and a chronically transient population for the standardization of modern language. I suspect there’s a trace of the uppity, too, as speaking a mountain vernacular is viewed by some as a sign of low breeding.

That kind of thinking just dills my pickle. To some of us, the country way of talking can be music to our ears.

These days, it’s common for families to uproot repeatedly. We’ve become a culture of rolling stones, and not only do we gather no moss, but we don’t gather the unique cultural quirks that come from being rooted in a place with ancestors as colorful as those in West Virginia.

My own family’s roots here are still stubby. My mother, a Pittsburgher, and my father–born in Germany, raised in India–moved here in the 1960s when Dad was hired by Carbide. Since I was knee high to a grasshopper when we came here, I remember no other home.

I’ve always been a bit envious of those who have been burying their ancestors for generations in the same family cemetery. That may sound like I have a few ancestors I’m longing to plant, but that isn’t the case. It’s the sense of belonging that much to a place and carrying forward its traces in ways that are uniquely Appalachian.

It seems that colloquialisms-the phrases and descriptions exclusive to this part of the world- are being squeezed out by slang. While some slang is easy for anyone anywhere to pick up and use, no matter how much we say it, it’ll never be ours in the same colorful way as it was in the past. For instance, if you want to own up to a mistake, which one sounds better? Saying “My bad,” or “This isn’t the first time I’ve brought chicken to a fish fry.”

A few years back, I started collecting sayings every time I came across an especially good one. Although many of them are a little too crude to print in the paper, below are a few of my favorites.
He’s tighter than a tick with lockjaw.

She could talk a dog off a meat wagon.

He could cut himself with a picture of a razor.

I’m as confused as a termite in a yo-yo.

She’s cuter than a bug’s ear.

You need to count your fingers after shaking hands with him.

He’s so crooked that when he dies, they’re going to have to screw him into the ground.

She couldn’t catch a cold if it had handles.

I wouldn’t speak to her if I met her in hell and she was carrying a big lump of ice in her hands.

You look like you’ve been drawn through a knothole backwards.

I’m mad enough I could eat barbed wire and spit nails.

She’s got more cousins than Carter’s got liver pills.

Now that’ll throw yer hat in the creek.

Uglier than the southbound end of a northbound donkey.

We grew up so poor we’d go to Kentucky Fried Chicken to lick other people’s fingers.

And my absolute favorite: Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And now some from my collection that weren’t entirely suitable to print in a family paper . . .

He couldn’t pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were written on the heel.

She’s so full of shit her eyes are brown. (That one’s usually said about me.)

She’s so stubborn she’d argue with a stop sign.

He’s as jumpy as a fart on a griddle.

I’m as busy as a one-armed barber with hives.

She wouldn’t say shit if she had a mouthful.

That food tasted so bad the dog had to lick his ass just to get the taste out of his mouth.

That kid is ugly enough to scare the buzzards off a gut wagon.

It’s hotter than a goat’s ass in a pepper patch.

I’m as anxious as a one-eyed cat watching two rat holes.

Well, I’ll be dipped in shit and rolled in breadcrumbs.

He’s shorter than a mouse hole.

That man is dumber than a sack full of hammers.

That’s about as handy as a pocketful of paper assholes.

If you threw him in a barrel of boobs, he’d come out sucking his thumb.

This is one of my favorite descriptions ever. It was said about a woman who was wearing a really bright lipstick: “Her mouth looks like a jaybird’s ass in pokeberry time.”

If you have any to add, please post them under comments or email them to me at karinfuller@cnpapers.com.

This entry was posted on Friday, April 21st, 2006 at 7:03 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.