Welcome to American Way Farm
Way "up nawth" in northern NH, where the snowdrifts are big enough to have their own zip codes, life on the farm comes with equal parts work, wonder, and comic relief. I’m Sandy Davis—farmer, storyteller, and frequent victim of livestock with too much personality. Here’s where I share the true (and mostly true) tales of everyday life on American Way Farm—the moments that inspired my book Between the Fenceposts available soon on amazon.

Monday, December 8, 2025

Family-Friendly Shakespearean Insults Guide

I’ve mentioned now and then that I occasionally invent—or mutter—
words I wouldn’t have said in front of my grandmother. Let me clarify that before anyone faints into their sweet tea. I don’t use profanity. I don’t like profanity. And I firmly believe the English language already gives us far more imaginative ways to add color to our vocabulary without dragging the paint bucket through the mud.

Now, I’m not judging anyone who does let fly with the four-letter fireworks. If that’s your brand of spice, have at it. Whatever keeps your boat afloat and your blood pressure regulated. I love you anyway. But for me? No thanks. I prefer my “colorful language” with a bit of creativity—and ideally a little flourish.

Some folks use the f-bomb so often it’s less of a word and more of a nervous tic. Twice in one sentence, even. At that point, it’s not vocabulary—it’s a cry for help.

That said, this commitment hasn’t always been easy. Years ago, I came this close to unleashing an expletive-laced tirade at my now ex-husband. My three kids were in the next room, and I didn’t want to taint my image as the calm, civilized parent—so in the heat of the moment I blurted out, “You, you… you sanctimonious pig!” It was the best I could come up with on short notice. Frankly I’m still a little proud of it.

Years later, I stumbled across a Shakespeare Insult Kit. It was a beautiful thing: three tidy columns of fantastically ridiculous words that, when combined, produced an endless parade of majestic, Elizabethan-style verbal zingers. 

The real reason I wouldn’t have said any of them in front of my grandmother wasn’t because they were rude, or crude—it’s because the poor woman wouldn’t have understood a single syllable. She’d have stopped me mid-tirade, asked what on earth I was talking about, and I’d have spent the next ten minutes explaining myself. And once you have to explain a joke—or an insult—it loses that bit of spontaneous sparkle that makes the moment worth having in the first place.

So here's a few examples to get you started. If you want the complete list, just email me (use the contact form). I'd be happy to share.

GRANDMA-APPROVED INSULTS FOR EVERYDAY USE

(Choose one item from each column to assemble your insult.)

Column A Column B Column C
Thou art a fusty-muzzled clodhopper
Get thee gone, thou hay-snuffling beetle-nosed knave
Listen here, thou barn-addled turnip-toting rascal
Mark my words, thou thistle-brained fence-leaping scallywag
I say, thou muck-dabbling chicken-startling varlet
whey-witted beet-brained gaffer
goat-bothering dung-dodging loon
bramble-shanked pasture-pillaging rogue
rustic-minded cud-chewing miscreant
wool-gnawing manure-minded scamp

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