Analogies from School Essays
Analogies from actual high school essays . . .
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Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its
two sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.
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His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking
alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.
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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.
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She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli and
he was room-temperature Canadian beef.
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She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that
sound a dog makes just before it throws up.
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Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
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He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.
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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.
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The little boat gently drifted across the pond
exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.
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McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like
a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.
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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.
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Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair
after a sneeze.
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The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just
like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.
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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 35mph.
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They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with
picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth.
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John and Mary had never met. They were like two
hummingbirds who had also never met.
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He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant
and she was the East River.
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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.
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Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.
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The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil.
But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.
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The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you
get from not eating for a while.
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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.
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The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended
one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.
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It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing
kids around with power tools.
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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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She was as easy as the TV Guide crossword.
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Her eyes were like limpid pools, only they had
forgotten to put in any pH cleanser.
[ Author Unknown -- from 'LAB Laughs' (LABLaughsClean@topica.com) ]
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