Metaphors that, for some reason, never saw publication:
His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking
alliances like underpants in a tumble dryer.
Malloy fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a paper bag
filled with vegetable soup.
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 centre.
Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
He was as tall as a six-foot-thlree-inch tree.
The thunder was ominous sounding, much like the sound of a
thin sheet of metal being shaken backstage during the storm
scene in a school play.
Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel
trap, only one that had been left out so long it had rusted
shut.
The plan was simple, like my brother Phil. But unlike Phil,
this plan just might work.
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.
She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog
makes just before it throws up.
She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing
legs.
It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally
staple it to the wall.
Al
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