What is another word for shitty?

Pronunciation: [ʃˈɪti] (IPA)

The word "shitty" is a colloquial term used to describe something as poor or substandard. There are several alternative words that can be used to convey the same meaning. Some synonyms for "shitty" include lousy, rubbish, crappy, terrible, and awful. Other words like mediocre, subpar, and unsatisfactory can also be used interchangeably with "shitty." It's important to note that while the word "shitty" is common in informal language, it may be considered vulgar or offensive in certain contexts. Using alternative words that are less harsh might be more appropriate in professional situations or when speaking with someone who may be offended by the word.

Synonyms for Shitty:

What are the paraphrases for Shitty?

Paraphrases are restatements of text or speech using different words and phrasing to convey the same meaning.
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What are the hypernyms for Shitty?

A hypernym is a word with a broad meaning that encompasses more specific words called hyponyms.

What are the opposite words for shitty?

The word "shitty" is considered a slang term that denotes something of poor quality or distasteful. When looking for antonyms or opposite words for "shitty," some options include words like excellent, top-notch, perfect, impeccable, wonderful, stunning, and remarkable. These words are often used to describe something that is of high quality or something that impresses or amazes someone. Other antonyms for "shitty" might include words like agreeable, enjoyable, delightful, and pleasurable. These words are used to describe something that is pleasant or enjoyable to the senses. In brief, antonyms for "shitty" are words that embody everything that "shitty" is not.

What are the antonyms for Shitty?

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    Other relevant words (noun):

Famous quotes with Shitty

  • He'd hesitated in sharing them (his life struggles), telling me that they far from measured up against what I'd dealt with, but I'd assured him that to each of us, our challenges are struggles, real to us without comparison to what anyone else is going through...that through our own lenses, life looks shitty sometimes and we think we'll bend under the weight of it...
    CJ Thomas
  • I don't believe pumpkin pie is even made from pumpkin. I mean, how can something that smells that shitty make a pie so sweet? There's not enough sugar in the universe.
    Lewis Black
  • We always feel better in anticipation. You don't think about something and think "Aw, it's gonna be shitty." You say "This is gonna be the greatest weekend ever! Sonuvabitch!" And then, by Monday, you're throwing up and you're thinking "You know, I always thought those guys were pricks!"
    Lewis Black
  • I am in this same river. I can't much help it. I admit it: I'm racist. The other night I saw a group (or maybe a pack?) or white teenagers standing in a vacant lot, clustered around a 4x4, and I crossed the street to avoid them; had they been black, I probably would have taken another street entirely. And I'm misogynistic. I admit that, too. I'm a shitty cook, and a worse house cleaner, probably in great measure because I've internalized the notion that these are woman's work. Of course, I never admit that's why I don't do them: I always say I just don't much enjoy those activities (which is true enough; and it's true enough also that many women don't enjoy them either), and in any case, I've got better things to do, like write books and teach classes where I feel morally superior to pimps. And naturally I value money over life. Why else would I own a computer with a hard drive put together in Thailand by women dying of job-induced cancer? Why else would I own shirts made in a sweatshop in Bangladesh, and shoes put together in Mexico? The truth is that, although many of my best friends are people of color (as the cliche goes), and other of my best friends are women, I am part of this river: I benefit from the exploitation of others, and I do not much want to sacrifice this privilege. I am, after all, civilized, and have gained a taste for "comforts and elegancies" which can be gained only through the coercion of slavery. The truth is that like most others who benefit from this deep and broad river, I would probably rather die (and maybe even kill, or better, have someone kill for me) than trade places with the men, women, and children who made my computer, my shirt, my shoes.
    Derrick Jensen
  • I’m a good person but a shitty writer. You’re a shitty person but a good writer. We’d make a good team. I don’t want to ask you any favors, but if you have time – and from what I saw, you have plenty – I was wondering if you could write a eulogy for Hazel. I’ve got notes and everything, but if you could just make it into a coherent whole or whatever? Or even just tell me what I should say differently. Here’s the thing about Hazel: Almost everyone is obsessed with leaving a mark upon the world. Bequeathing a legacy. Outlasting death. We all want to be remembered. I do, too. That’s what bothers me most, is being another unremembered casualty in the ancient and inglorious war against disease. I want to leave a mark. But Van Houten: The marks humans leave are too often scars. You build a hideous minimall or start a coup or try to become a rock star and you think, “They’ll remember me now,” but (a) they don’t remember you, and (b) all you leave behind are more scars. Your coup becomes a dictatorship. Your minimall becomes a lesion. (Okay, maybe I’m not such a shitty writer. But I can’t pull my ideas together, Van Houten. My thoughts are stars I can’t fathom into constellations.) We are like a bunch of dogs squirting on fire hydrants. We poison the groundwater with our toxic piss, marking everything MINE in a ridiculous attempt to survive our deaths. I can’t stop pissing on fire hydrants. I know it’s silly and useless – epically useless in my current state – but I am an animal like any other. Hazel is different. She walks lightly, old man. She walks lightly upon the earth. Hazel knows the truth: We’re as likely to hurt the universe as we are to help it, and we’re not likely to do either. People will say it’s sad that she leaves a lesser scar, that fewer remember her, that she was loved deeply but not widely. But it’s not sad, Van Houten. It’s triumphant. It’s heroic. Isn’t that the real heroism? Like the doctors say: First, do no harm. The real heroes anyway aren’t the people doing things; the real heroes are the people NOTICING things, paying attention. The guy who invented the smallpox vaccine didn’t actually invent anything. He just noticed that people with cowpox didn’t get smallpox. After my PET scan lit up, I snuck into the ICU and saw her while she was unconscious. I just walked in behind a nurse with a badge and I got to sit next to her for like ten minutes before I got caught. I really thought she was going to die, too. It was brutal: the incessant mechanized haranguing of intensive care. She had this dark cancer water dripping out of her chest. Eyes closed. Intubated. But her hand was still her hand, still warm and the nails painted this almost black dark almost blue color, and I just held her hand and tried to imagine the world without us and for about one second I was a good enough person to hope she died so she would never know that I was going, too. But then I wanted more time so we could fall in love. I got my wish, I suppose. I left my scar. A nurse guy came in and told me I had to leave, that visitors weren’t allowed, and I asked if she was doing okay, and the guy said, “She’s still taking on water.” A desert blessing, an ocean curse. What else? She is so beautiful. You don’t get tired of looking at her. You never worry if she is smarter than you: You know she is. She is funny without ever being mean. I love her. I am so lucky to love her, Van Houten. You don’t get to choose if you get hurt in this world, old man, but you do have some say in who hurts you. I like my choices. I hope she likes hers."
    John Green (author)

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