A simile is like a mother who can't just grab you by the neck an slap you around but has to get all snotty and keep talking about whatever it was until you finally start screaming and just leave for a while and then step in a pile of dog shit.
A simile is like a noisy silence.
A simile is like a row of pristine, empty glasses that the waiter comes and fills with snot, so there you are until you finally realize that it will at least make good fertilizer if you can get it home without spilling, or maybe something else. Who can say?
A simile is like a whipped cream on a hamburger, or worse, unless you like it for some reason and then, OK, whatever.
A simile is like an alligator without teeth, but who still has bad breath, and then you find out it's using your toothbrush. For something you are sorry you heard about.
A simile is like being rescued by helicopter, but only briefly.
A sinkhole opened up under one of my old high school teachers while she was blowing her nose in preparation for wheezing out a useless speech in gratitude for the plaque they gave her for half a century of dedication to destroying young minds. But before she could fall into the the abyss, hordes of flies roared in and carried her into darkness where they could devour her at leisure. Or so I imagine. #IfWeLivedInAJustWorld
A slow half moon rises. Birds drowse in dimming dusk. I bark for no particular reason, or because it's Thursday. Don't know no more. Feels good both ways.
A squirrel ran up my pants leg. Now its biting my nuts. I guess I should have expected this.
A stitch in time saves Nina, and her naughty, duo-syllabic schema.
A suspicious chicken has been following me around lately. Suspicious because none of the others drives a Maserati.
A turnip just bit me, little vegetable bastard.
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Me? Currently looking for clues about yesterday. (I can't let it go.)
