You Love Fish, It’s Your Favorite | Curing Mental Illness since March 2009

My Favorite Put Down

I read a post on the mothership and started laughing at a few of the pejorative names that were tossed around and it got me thinking about funny phrases and words. I know what you’re thinking…is this going to be the first in a long line of piscatorial posts or might we venture into a realm unknown?

The answer of course, is why not both? Just kidding. I think we can safely shelve our admiration for fisherman, old men, the sea, and how their bounty is turned into a delicious fried patchwork of amphibious parts. Today we embark upon a mission to call forth our favorite malicious insults.

Smoothbrain

Cockholster

Friend of Dorothy

Assface

Blue lipped mother fucker (non obama specific)

Chickenman

Dickbag

Peen lover

9/10 would smash this smoothbrain cockholster

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April 29, 2021
Categories: #hashtag, Bacon Strips, bacon wrapped booger, Baconwrappedboobbeer, Belly Button Micro Penis, Beret, Compound W, condom free septic tank, Conspiracy theories for $500 Alex, conspiracy theory, Eat a bag of dicks, Ed Balls, Ejaculate Responsibly - car in demands it, Fake Butt Accurate, fancy first dates and frilly underwear, H2 Eulogy, Hai Karate, how much wood wood a peckerwood peck if a peckerwood was drunk and went around pecking wood?, I feel like chicken tonight., I Feel the Need for Speed, Mini Eggs, NOT another post by Pupster, Plugged nickel, Plumbing, rhymes with "your mom", Ride the pony, Smoke a pole, Smokeshow, Summaries, Tastes More Like Regular, Ten Gallon, TurtleFacePlant, We don't need no stinking categories, whiskey, You Love Fish, It's Your Favorite, Your Welcome Hotspur . . Author: MJ . Comments: 193 Comments

A Post about Simpler Times

My grandma’s favorite song. She passed before I ever got to really know her, but rumor has it she was kind of an amazing gal. My mom gets teary eyes when she hears it.

My family is from the Ozarks in Missouri and my grandma insisted the family move to California so they wouldn’t be redneck. Never-mind the fact that their front yard was full of shot gun shells from shooting at squirrels (I used to walk around and collect them for whatever reason) and dead crows hung from the trees because they thought it’d scare the crows from eating their crops. When their house caught fire and burnt down, they rebuilt it with a wood burning cook-stove again. No modern appliances needed, thank you very much. These “rednecks” would give you the shirt off their backs if you showed up at their house. Unexpected visitors would get a full meal. I’d watch them pull out a metal coffee can, spoon some bacon grease out of it, put it in a cast iron skillet and cook you a fine breakfast, with fresh made corn bread to boot.

Farm people are a tough breed. I remember in my grandpa’s end days he lived with us and he fell….hard. He broke some ribs and his leg. My mom asked him if he wanted some cornbread before she called the ambulance. Old guy insisted on having fresh made cornbread from scratch before the ambulance was called because he knew the food would suck at the hospital.

Sometimes my grandpa would feed the hogs day old donuts and I can remember my cousins and I running out to the trough to get to them before the hogs did….why? Cuz chocolate. STFU THEY WERE ON TOP, OK?