I have a writing friend that writes metaphors beautifully. I can’t. Her metaphors are like beautiful wildflowers popping up where you least expect them. See, I stink. Plus, that was a simile.
Whatever. Someone sent me a list of Analogies and I thought I’d share. My favorite is number four. Enjoy!
World’s Funniest Analogies.
–Annual English Teachers’ awards for best student metaphors/analogies
found in actual student papers:–His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like
underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.–He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy
who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those
boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at
high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one
of those boxes with a pinhole in it.She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just
before it throws up.Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
He was as tall as a six-foot, three-inch tree.
The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling
ball wouldn’t.From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie,
surreal quality, like when you’re on vacation in another city and
Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry
them in hot grease.Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the
grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left
Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at
4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had
also never met.He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was the East
River.Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel trap, only one
that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.
The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law George. But unlike George,
this plan just might work.The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating
for a while.He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a
real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land mine or
something.The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg
behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with
power tools.He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if
she were a garbage truck backing up
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