They came from the UK’s teenage minds

by losetowin

Posted to Utterances on 2002-12-04 05:47:00

These are metaphors from actual GCSE essays (age 15/16).

They are excellent.



> Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two other
sides
> gently compressed by a Thigh
> Master.
>
> His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like
> underpants in a tumble dryer.
>
> She caught your eye like one of those pointy hook latches that used to
> dangle from doors and would
> fly up whenever you banged the door open again.
>
> The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a
bowling
> ball wouldn’t.
>
> McMurphy 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-three-inch tree.
>
> 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 York at 6:36 p.m.
> travelling
> at 55 mph, the other
> from Peterborough at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.
>
> The politician was gone but unnoticed, like the full stop after the
Dr. on
> a Dr Pepper can.
>
> 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.
>
> The red brick wall was the colour of a brick-red crayon.
>
> Even in his last years, Grandpa had a mind like a steel trap, only one
> that
> had been left out so
> long it had rusted shut.
>
> The door had been forced, as forced as the dialogue during the
interview
> portion of Family Fortunes.
>
> Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.
>
> The plan was simple, like my brother 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 student on
> 31p-a-pint night.
>
> 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 artistic sense was exquisitely refined, like someone who can tell
> butter from “I Can’t Believe
> It’s Not Butter.”
>
> She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes
just
> before it throws up.
>
> It came down the stairs looking very much like something no one had
ever
> seen before.
>
> The knife was as sharp as the tone used by Glenda Jackson MP in her
first
> several points of
> parliamentary procedure made to Robin Cook MP, Leader of the House of
> Commons, in the House
> Judiciary Committee hearings on the suspension of Keith Vaz MP.
>
> The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg
> behind
> her, like a dog at a
> lamppost.
>
> 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
cashpoint.
>
> The dandelion swayed in the gentle breeze like an oscillating electric
fan
> set on medium.
>
> It was a working class tradition, like fathers chasing kids around
with
> their power tools.
>
> He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as
if
> she
> were a dustcart
> reversing.
>
> She was as easy as the Daily Star crossword.
>
> She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli and he was
> room-temperature British beef.
>
> She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.
>
> Her voice had that tense, grating quality, like a first-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.
>
>
>
>
>