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.
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.
Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the centre.
He was as tall as a 6′3″ tree.
She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.
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 vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.
The lamp just sat there, like an inanimate object.
Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.
The sardines were packed as tight as the coach section of a 747.
The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.
Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left London at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Bristol at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.
She was as unhappy as when someone puts your cake out in the rain, and all the sweet green icing flows down and then you lose the recipe, and on top of that you can’t sing worth a damn.
Her artistic sense was exquisitely refined, like someone who can tell butter from I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter
The dandelion swayed in the gentle breeze like an oscillating electric fan set on medium.
Her lips were red and full, like tubes of blood drawn by an inattentive phlebotomist.
The sunset displayed rich, spectacular hues like a .jpeg file at 10 percent cyan, 10 percent magenta, 60 percent yellow and 10 percent black.
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 card.
McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.
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.
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 hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.
He felt like he was being hunted down like a dog, in a place that hunts dogs, I suppose.
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.
The red brick wall was the colour of a brick-red Crayola crayon.
he caught your eye like one of those pointy hook latches that used to dangle from screen doors and would fly up whenever you banged the door open again.
Her pants fit her like a glove, well, maybe more like a mitten, actually.
Fishing is like waiting for something that does not happen very often.
Oooo, he smells bad, she thought, as bad as Calvin Klein’s Obsession would smell if it were called Enema and was made from spoiled Spamburgers instead of natural floral fragrances.
The knife was as sharp as the tone used by Rep. Sheila Jackson Lee (D-Tex.) in her first several points of parliamentary procedure made to Rep. Henry Hyde (R-Ill.) in the House Judiciary Committee hearings on the impeachment of President William Jefferson Clinton.
He was as bald as one of the Three Stooges, either Curly or Larry, you know, the one who goes woo woo woo.
Her eyes were shining like two marbles that someone dropped in mucus and then held up to catch the light.
I felt a nameless dread. Well, there probably is a long German name for it, like Geschpooklichkeit or something, but I don’t speak German. Anyway, it’s a dread that nobody knows the name for, like those little square plastic gizmos that close your bread bags. I don’t know the name for those either.
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 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 on $1-a-beer 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.
She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.
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.
The dandelion swayed in the gentle breeze like an oscillating electric fan set on medium.
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 they had forgotten to put in any pH cleanser.
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.
Her voice had that tense, grating quality, like a first-generation thermal paper fax machine that needed a band tightened.