Good writing - just like Shakespeare done

I was reminded today of a brilliant email that I received a while back.

It contained analogies and metaphors found in high school essays in America.

The list was assembled by the Society for Scholarly Publishing. Speaking of which, can you imagine the sorts of people who are in the Society for Scholarly Publishing? I bet they know how to have a good time.

Anyway, here are the analogies and metaphors in all their written glory. There's some absolute genius here.

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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.


Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.


His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.


She grew on him like she was a colony of E-Coli and he was room-temperature beef.


She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that 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 little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.


The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and The Simpsons comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.


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


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 6:38pm traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19pm at a speed of 35 mph. 


John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.


He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant and she was the East River.


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.


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.


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.


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.


She was as easy as the TV Guide crossword.


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.

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And now, this has nothing to do with anything. But it's still good.

Main image courtesy of icanhascheezburger.com.

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Show and Tell

There are many things I enjoy. I like pictures of pets in costumes, Youtube videos of people hurting themselves and films that distract me for days on end. I'm also partial to the odd liturgical dance performance, watching episodes of Deadwood in bed and reading a great piece of writing that makes my heart sing. My love for all these things has landed me the gig of Entertainment Editor here at The Vine. So in the words of Robbie Williams, sit back and "Let me entertain you". *punches self in head*