Anyone who’s read anything of mine knows I love metaphors and similes. I also like meteors and a smiles, but that’s beside the point. This blog will be a jumping point for some, creating a launching pad in their craniums that will skyrocket them to that “Ah-Ha!” moment. Others will read this and have a “No-duh!” moment. Either, or, you’re here, I’m here, so you might as well keep reading.
“Her vagina was like peeling apart a grilled cheese sandwich.” Now, as unsettling as that sentence was, after reading it, you knew exactly what I was talking about. I didn’t have to go into great detail to describe her lady bits for you to come to the conclusion that someone shouldn’t be down there without a gasmask and a flamethrower. This is why I love similes. For those of you out-of-the-know, a simile is a direct comparison using “like” or “as” to connect the two subjects. Are you following? I sure hope so, because I’m no English teacher.
“His penis was a feather, tickling her fancy.” Ah, cunning linguistics, how misunderstood you are. Basically, folks, if you drop the “like” or “as” from your similes, you have a metaphor. I do not use these quite as often, but they come in handy when your ten-thousand word document has a thousand “likes” in it.
So, why did I use the above, highly sexual sentences to prove my point? Because life is like a box of chocolates; you never know when you’re going to get a nut. This is playtime, people; the place where I get my kicks. I’ve likened friends to deodorant and explosive diarrhea to the dulcet tones of a water-filled trombone. I see the world as one complete simile. Everything is like everything else in a sense, and I enjoy connecting the dots. I could tell you that there’s blue paint on the wall, but it’s much more enjoyable if I tell you it looked like a Taliban-trained Smurf ran into it with C4 strapped to his waistline. You know, Blasty Smurf.
Metaphors are cake, and similes are like icing. But with this combination, you can have both. So what if you sound redundant? If you’re entertaining with it, you win. Mix it up, and tie them together. Try this on for size: “He felt as if he’d just taken Viagra and Ex-Lax at the same time. He was coming and going.” I laughed. If you didn’t maybe you shouldn’t be here. Then again, the way we started this you probably didn’t hang around, so those of you left, just ignore me. Wait, don’t ignore… fuck it.
I don’t want to read tired explanations of things, as I’m sure, neither do you. It’s easy to say someone is running around like a chicken with their head cut off, but we knew that was coming by the time the author typed the word “chicken.” I want you to make highways and byways branching off of the road less traveled. I want to taste your literary soup and feel nourished. No one wins with writing like, “he shot sperm like a shotgun blast.” First, he’s gonna put someone’s eye out. Second, when I picture a money-shot, I don’t want to associate it with buck-shot. And lastly, it’s a cock, not cocked. Also see, “like a laser”; “like a tea pot”; and “like a canon…” Sorry, that last one can stay, as it involves the use of balls.
If you’ve stayed with me, we’ve reached the end. Your virgin eyes are smoldering, and quite possibly, you’re sitting in a puddle. I have that effect on people. Today’s blog is the literary equivalent of a snail-trail: No one wants to mention that it exists, but it remains the aftermath of shared experience and deserves your attention.
So tell me your favorite metaphor or simile. You know what I mean, or at least you should by now. What’s “like” what and what “is” what. Make me laugh, or at least see things your way. I know you have it in you. You’re a cluster-fuck of knowledge, like a gang-bang in a library.
As George Takei would say, “Oh Myyyyyy.”
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