During the spring semester every year I teach French Composition. At times it's hard enough to write well in English, let alone in French, n'est-ce pas?! Today's iv is a list of analogies and/or comparisons that students have supposedly used in papers submitted in high school classes. (I checked with snopes.com and found nothing to indicate that these are bogus.) 😀
Worst analogies found in papers by high school students:
(WARNING - Several of these are truly weird! Make sure you are in a place where you can laugh out loud if you need to.)
The situation had become topsy-turvy - like Christmas in the summer, if you're in Australia.
Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
The information imbedded on the stolen computer chip was like an explosive so explosive it could explode, creating a massive explosion.
Her parting words lingered heavily inside me like last night's Taco Bell.
The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.
His face looked like an ice sculpture. Not one of those pretty ones in the middle of a cruise ship buffet, but the kind they do in a contest with a chain saw - and it had been out in the heat too long.
She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.
A single drop of sweat slowly inched down Chad's brow - a tiny, glistening Times Square New Year's Eve Ball of desperation.
The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.
Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two other sides gently compressed by a ThighMaster.
He spoke with the wisdom that can come only 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.
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 p.m. instead of 7:30.
Her hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze.
Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the center.
He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.
She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.
She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.
Even in his last years, Grandpappy 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.
He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.
The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.
He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant and she was the East River.
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 eyes were like limpid pools, only they had forgotten to put in any pH cleanser.
Her voice had that tense, grating quality, like a generation thermal paper fax machine that needed a band tightened.
It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally staple it to the wall.
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.
They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth.
John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
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.
His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underwear in a dryer without Cling Free.
The red brick wall was the color of a brick-red Crayola crayon.
The politician was gone, but unnoticed, like the period after the Dr. on a Dr Pepper can.
She had a voice so husky it could have pulled a dogsled.
My wife Becka and daughter Nora arrived home safe and sound Tuesday evening. The weather was beautiful, the roads clear, and the traffic not bad. Thanks to any of you who prayed for their safety. We're all getting caught up and ready for Bible Conference next week.
"There's nothing I can achieve that won't pale in comparison with God's glory." - Dr. Drew Conley
May your troubles be like a redneck's teeth - few and far between.