The following are taken directly from the Irish Leaving Cert English Paper, its our equivalent to the A levels or Abitur or whatever... Classic!!! :)
>She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.
>
>His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like
>underpants in a tumble dryer
>
>Her hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze.
>
>The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a
>bowling ball wouldn't.
>
>McMurphy fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a paper bag
>filled with vegetable soup.
>
>Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the
>centre
>
>The dandelion swayed in the gentle breeze like an oscillating
>electric fan set on medium.
>
>Her vocabulary was as bad as, kinda' like, sorta, whatever.
>
>He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.
>
>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 Ballina at 6:36 pm travelling at 55 mph, the other from
>Claremorris 4:19pm at a speed of 35 mph.
>
>The politician was gone but unnoticed, like the full stop after the
>Dr. on a Dr Pepper can.
>
>John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had
>also never met.
>
>The thunder was ominous sounding, much like the sound of a thin
>sheet of metal being shaken backstage during the storm scene in a
>play.
>
>The red brick wall was the colour of a brick-red crayon.
>
>Even in his last years, Granddad 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 Phil. But unlike Phil, this
>plan just might work.
>
>The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not
>eating for while.
>
>"Oh, Jason, take me!" she panted, her breasts heaving like a student
> on 50 cent-a-pint 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
>landmine or something.
>
>Her artistic sense was exquisitely refined, like someone who can
>tell butter from the "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter" ad.
>
>She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes
>just before it throws up.
>
>It came down the stairs looking very much like something no-one had
>ever seen before.
>
>The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg
>behind her, like a dog at a lamppost.
>
>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 cashpoint.
>
>It was a working class tradition, like fathers chasing kids around
>with their power tools.
>
>He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as
>if she were a dustcart reversing.
>
>She was as easy as the Independent crossword.
>
>She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli and he was
>room-temperature British beef.
>
>Her voice had that tense, grating quality, like a first-generation
>thermal paper fax machine that needed a band tightened.
>
>It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally staple it
>to the wall.
>
>Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two other
>sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.
:sweatdrop: :sweatdrop: ~:joker: ~:joker: :bow: ~:cheers:
