It’s been a challenging week here…with another one coming up. I don’t know about you, but I could use a good dose of humor. This came to me in an e-mail. Have fun. See if you can add one of your own in comments!
Why I could never teach High School English–Examples of creative high school writing:
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.
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.
She grew on him like she was a colony of E.coli and he was
room-temperature Canadian 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 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 little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a
bowling ball wouldn’t.
McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag
filled with vegetable soup.
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 .
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 6:36 p.m . traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka
at 4:19 p.m . at a speed of 40 mph.
They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences
that resembled Nancy Kerrigan’s teeth.
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
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.
Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.
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.
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.
Have a fun week…keep smiling.