A simile is like a bag of fireworks that goes off in your face, or if you are at least a little bit lucky, in someone else's face, or if it is not your best day ever, in your pants because then you have to explain how they got into your pants, besides the cleanup issues, and the bruises.
Boldfaced Nates. (I don't know either.)
Got only one hour of sleep last night. The rest of the time I was in a coma — it's sort of like an uncomfortable sock for your whole body while your body is actually turned off — and the cat was sleeping on my face, which isn't all that bad unless he is having that recurring nightmare about mice.
Harvey ain't here today. He went and got a face transplant. Nobody knows who he is any more. I still got my cat though. I still have one friend. And he's still watching me.
I tried catnip last night. I do remember getting into it pretty heavy with the cat, for awhile, but I sort of blacked out — have no idea what happened later. Curiously, I woke up wearing long johns I didn't know I had, with a face tattoo, and socks on my ears. And the cat got shaved somehow. He's looking at me funny now.
Shocked to find Captain Automatic lying face down in the gutter. So small — only about six inches long, also plastic. Another great mythical figure brought low. (But recyclable. That's always a plus.)
As Mom once said "Get the fuck out of my face." And some other stuff. It's all in the sheriff's report. He's pretty funny sometimes.
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Me? Currently feeding from a bucket.
