He’s on a first-name basis with the bottom of the deck.
There are a lot of nooses in his family tree.
So crooked that if he swallowed a nail he’d spit up a corkscrew.
So crooked you can’t tell from his tracks if he’s coming or going.
He knows more ways to take your money than a roomful of lawyers.
Crooked as a dog’s hind leg.
Crooked as the Brazos.
Slicker than a slop jar.
More twists than a pretzel factory.
Crooked as a barrel of fish hooks.
So crooked he has to unscrew his britches at night.
She’s more slippery than a pocketful of pudding.
He’s slicker than a boiled onion.
I wouldn’t trust him any farther than I can throw him.
She could start a fight in an empty house.
He’d argue with a wooden Indian.
She raised hell and stuck a chunk under it.
He’s the only hell his mama ever raised.
He’s got his tail up.
She’s in a horn-tossing mood.
She’s so contrary she floats up-stream.
She’s dancing in the hog trough.
He’ll tell you how the cow ate the cabbage.
He’s got a big hole in his screen door.
She’s one bubble off plumb.
She’s one brick shy of a load.
She’s two sandwiches short of a picnic.
He’s a few pickles short of a barrel.
There’s a light or two burned out on his string.
He’s missing a few buttons off his shirt.
The porch light’s on but no one’s home.
He’s lost his vertical hold.
He’s overdrawn at the memory bank.
I hear you clucking, but I can’t find your nest.
She’s got too many cobwebs in the attic.
Crazy as a bullbat.
This is hog-killing weather.
There’s only a strand of barbed wire between here and there, and it’s down (after a blizzard).
Cold as a well-digger’s knee.
Cold as a frosted frog.
Cold as an ex-wife’s heart.
Cold as a cast-iron commode.
Cold as a banker’s heart.
Cold as hell with the furnace out.