I have a cold right now. So I thought it was time for a good laugh. And to share it all with you. So here you go! Let's have some fun!
56 of the Worst Student Analogies:
Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in
the center.
He was as tall as a 6’3’’ tree.
Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two
sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.
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.
John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds
who had also never met.
She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a
dog makes just before it throws up.
The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one
slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.
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.
Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli and he was
room-temperature Canadian beef.
The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated
because of his wife’s infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a
formerly surcharge-free ATM.
The lamp just sat there, like an inanimate object.
McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty
bag filled with vegetable soup.
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 asolar 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.
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.
Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.
The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the
way a bowling ball wouldn’t.
Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a
sneeze.
The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.
They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket
fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan’s teeth.
He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant and she
was the East River.
Even in his last years, Grand pappy had a mind like a steel
trap, only one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.
He felt like he was being hunted down like a dog, in a place
that hunts dogs, I suppose.
She was as easy as the TV Guide crossword.
She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing
legs.
The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike
Phil, this plan just might work.
The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from
not eating for a while.
“Oh, Jason, take me!” she panted, her breasts heaving like a
college freshman on $1-a-beer night.
It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally
staple it to the wall.
It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids
around with power tools. ~ aw, the American dream…
He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard
bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.
The politician was gone but unnoticed, like the period after
the Dr. on a Dr Pepper can.
Her eyes were like limpid pools, only they had forgotten to
put in any pH cleanser.
Her date was pleasant enough, but she knew that if her life
was a movie this guy would be buried in the credits as something like “Second
Tall Man.”
The thunder was ominous-sounding, much like the sound of a
thin sheet of metal being shaken backstage during the storm scene in a play.
The red brick wall was the color of a brick-red Crayola
crayon.
She caught your eye like one of those pointy hook latches
that used to dangle from screen doors and would fly up whenever you banged the
door open again.
Her pants fit her like a glove, well, maybe more like a
mitten, actually.
Fishing is like waiting for something that does not happen
very often.
They were as good friends as the people on “Friends.”
Oooo, he smells bad, she thought, as bad as Calvin Klein’s
Obsession would smell if it were called Enema and was made from spoiled
Spamburgers instead of natural floral fragrances.
The knife was as sharp as the tone used by Rep. Sheila
Jackson Lee (D-Tex.) in her first several points of parliamentary procedure
made to Rep. Henry Hyde (R-Ill.) in the House Judiciary Committee hearings on
the impeachment of President William Jefferson Clinton.
He was as bald as one of the Three Stooges, either Curly or
Larry, you know, the one who goes woo woo woo.
The sardines were packed as tight as the coach section of a
747.
Her eyes were shining like two marbles that someone dropped
in mucus and then held up to catch the light.
The baseball player stepped out of the box and spit like a
fountain statue of a Greek god that scratches itself a lot and spits brown,
rusty tobacco water and refuses to sign autographs for all the little Greek
kids unless they pay him lots of drachmas.
I felt a nameless dread. Well, there probably is a long
German name for it, like Geschpooklichkeit or something, but I don’t speak
German. Anyway, it’s a dread that nobody knows the name for, like those little
square plastic gizmos that close your bread bags. I don’t know the name for
those either.
She was as unhappy as when someone puts your cake out in the
rain, and all the sweet green icing flows down and then you lose the recipe,
and on top of that you can’t sing worth a damn.
Her artistic sense was exquisitely refined, like someone who
can tell butter from I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.
It came down the stairs looking very much like something no
one had ever seen before.
Bob was as perplexed as a hacker who means to access
T:flw.quid55328.com\aaakk/ch@ung but gets T:\flw.quidaaakk/ch@ung by mistake.
You know how in “Rocky” he prepares for the fight by
punching sides of raw beef? Well, yesterday it was as cold as that meat locker
he was in.
The dandelion swayed in the gentle breeze like an
oscillating electric fan set on medium.
Her lips were red and full, like tubes of blood drawn by an
inattentive phlebotomist.
The sunset displayed rich, spectacular hues like a .jpeg
file at 10 percent cyan, 10 percent magenta, 60 percent yellow and 10 percent
black.
And there you have it! If you got through that without even cracking your lips into a smile, I defy you to be human. Enjoy your Thursdays everyone!
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