||Volume 16, Number 4, March 2004 |
Gems from high school essays
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.
He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.
Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.
John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
She grew on him like she was a colony of e-coli and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.
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.
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 awhile.
Source: Three Quarter Times, Vancouver Folk Song Society, December 2003.