Analogies and Metaphors Found in High School Essays

Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that has been gently
squeezed by a Thigh Master.

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 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 the 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 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.

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 instead of 7:30.

Her hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze.

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.

Shots rang out, as shots are want to do.

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 at one dollar beer night.

He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, 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.

Her eyes were like limpid pools, only someone had forgotten to put in
any pool cleaning tablets.

She walked into my office like acentipede with 98 missing legs.

It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally nail it to the wall.