Today, it’s all about analogies. I do SO love me some analogies… especially really bad ones. And stolen ones.
Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the center.
He was as tall as a 6′3″ tree.
Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.
From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you’re on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.
John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.
The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.
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 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 lamp just sat there, like an inanimate object.
McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.
His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.
He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at asolar 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.
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 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.
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.
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.
They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan’s teeth.
He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant and she was the East River.
Even in his last years, Grand pappy had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long, it hadrusted shut.
He felt like he was being hunted down like a dog, in a place that hunts dogs, I suppose.
She was as easy as the TV Guide crossword.
(I think the original poster was this lady, http://writingenglish.wordpress.com/about/ but with the internet and CTRL+C, who can really be sure?)