Ninjaboy's head exploded like an overripe melon dropped from a very high building.
Make Me Simile (Come Up And See Me)
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ChrisFilter
Like a boss.
Ninjaboy was welcome on the thread, like a contagious wart on the genitals of the girl you've just woken up with.
Sweet FA
✪ Three rounds Lord, in my .44 ✪
"Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever"
In reverse order; The Top 20 Bad Suspense Novel Metaphors or Similes!
(nicked from http://www.topfive.com)
Worn down at the edges like a Times Square hooker, the caretaker's last tooth lay on the floor like a yellow Chiclet.
When she stepped out of her dress, she had the body of a 90-year-old nun, if the nun looked as young, attractive, and sexy as the dame standing in front of me.
The situation had become topsy-turvy -- like Christmas in the summer, if you're in Australia.
The information imbedded on the stolen computer chip was like an explosive so explosive it could explode, creating a massive explosion.
As I watched through the slatted shades, her bosom bounce like her suspicious husband's first check.
The killer was a misplaced comma in the jaunty, happy sentence that made up the party crowd.
His face looked like an ice sculpture. Not one of those pretty ones in the middle of a cruise ship buffet, but the kind they do in a contest with a chainsaw -- and it had been out in the heat too long.
Like any family, this house had its secrets, secrets it grimly refused to reveal, and would continue to refuse to reveal even if it could speak, which unlike a family, or at least most members of most families, it couldn't.
The air of danger perversely made Nina's nipples harden, like that Magic Shell stuff on a bowl of ice cream.
From his vantage point in the balcony, the would-be assassin looked down on the debating candidates like a webhead looking down on an AOL user.
The sudden darkness made the Countess tense, like Bobby Jerome that time with the bicycle in 7th grade, remember?
There was something funny about the kidnapping crime scene that Special Agent Frievald couldn't quite place, and the thought stuck with him throughout the rest of the day, like those tiny little bits of the circumferent skin from the bologna slices on a foot-long Subway Cold Cut Trio that get stuck in between the last two molars on the upper left, on the tongue side where you can't possibly reach them with a toothpick, your fingernails, or even a systematically straightened paper clip, they just sit there and make everything you eat at your next meal taste vaguely like vinegar and mayonnaise, and then somehow -- quietly but miraculously -- they disappear by themselves in the middle of the night while you're asleep, just like the visiting Countess appeared to have done.
Her parting words lingered heavily inside me like last night's Taco Bell.
The bullet burned Gilmore's gut like the first piss after a long night in a Singapore brothel.
A single drop of sweat slowly inched down Chad's brow -- a tiny, glistening Times Square New Year's Eve Ball of desperation.
His .38 barked fire, like John Goodman's butt after a chili cookoff.
Her blazing eyes dance like Astaire and Rogers, but since they were crossed, it was an ocular tango, and my eyes had to foxtrot just to maintain eye contact.
She had a voice so husky it could have pulled a dogsled, and the gun she was holding gave me a bad case of barrel envy.
The neon sign reflected off his gun, like the moonlight reflects off my brother-in-law's bald head after a night of beer drinking and cow-tipping.
Unable to contain his rage, he burst like a pimple of emotion, the pus of his fury streaking the mirror of calm in the bathroom of his life.
In reverse order; The Top 20 Bad Suspense Novel Metaphors or Similes!
(nicked from http://www.topfive.com)
Worn down at the edges like a Times Square hooker, the caretaker's last tooth lay on the floor like a yellow Chiclet.
When she stepped out of her dress, she had the body of a 90-year-old nun, if the nun looked as young, attractive, and sexy as the dame standing in front of me.
The situation had become topsy-turvy -- like Christmas in the summer, if you're in Australia.
The information imbedded on the stolen computer chip was like an explosive so explosive it could explode, creating a massive explosion.
As I watched through the slatted shades, her bosom bounce like her suspicious husband's first check.
The killer was a misplaced comma in the jaunty, happy sentence that made up the party crowd.
His face looked like an ice sculpture. Not one of those pretty ones in the middle of a cruise ship buffet, but the kind they do in a contest with a chainsaw -- and it had been out in the heat too long.
Like any family, this house had its secrets, secrets it grimly refused to reveal, and would continue to refuse to reveal even if it could speak, which unlike a family, or at least most members of most families, it couldn't.
The air of danger perversely made Nina's nipples harden, like that Magic Shell stuff on a bowl of ice cream.
From his vantage point in the balcony, the would-be assassin looked down on the debating candidates like a webhead looking down on an AOL user.
The sudden darkness made the Countess tense, like Bobby Jerome that time with the bicycle in 7th grade, remember?
There was something funny about the kidnapping crime scene that Special Agent Frievald couldn't quite place, and the thought stuck with him throughout the rest of the day, like those tiny little bits of the circumferent skin from the bologna slices on a foot-long Subway Cold Cut Trio that get stuck in between the last two molars on the upper left, on the tongue side where you can't possibly reach them with a toothpick, your fingernails, or even a systematically straightened paper clip, they just sit there and make everything you eat at your next meal taste vaguely like vinegar and mayonnaise, and then somehow -- quietly but miraculously -- they disappear by themselves in the middle of the night while you're asleep, just like the visiting Countess appeared to have done.
Her parting words lingered heavily inside me like last night's Taco Bell.
The bullet burned Gilmore's gut like the first piss after a long night in a Singapore brothel.
A single drop of sweat slowly inched down Chad's brow -- a tiny, glistening Times Square New Year's Eve Ball of desperation.
His .38 barked fire, like John Goodman's butt after a chili cookoff.
Her blazing eyes dance like Astaire and Rogers, but since they were crossed, it was an ocular tango, and my eyes had to foxtrot just to maintain eye contact.
She had a voice so husky it could have pulled a dogsled, and the gun she was holding gave me a bad case of barrel envy.
The neon sign reflected off his gun, like the moonlight reflects off my brother-in-law's bald head after a night of beer drinking and cow-tipping.
Unable to contain his rage, he burst like a pimple of emotion, the pus of his fury streaking the mirror of calm in the bathroom of his life.
ChrisFilter
Like a boss.
Ninjaboy said:
Like a drunk kicking a child, Ninjaboy was the worst kind of human existence. His kind should have been extinguished long ago, like England's Rose: the candle in the wind.
Ninjaboy was adult like a 3-year old kid rolling around in its own faeces wondering about colours.
brixtonvilla
should be Oslovilla, really
My faves...
Dumb as a bag of hammers
Happy as a dog with two dicks
Beaten like a ginger stepchild
Sweating like a glassblower's arse
Will add more if I can think of them.
Dumb as a bag of hammers
Happy as a dog with two dicks
Beaten like a ginger stepchild
Sweating like a glassblower's arse
Will add more if I can think of them.
Orang Utan
Maybe I like the misery
brixtonvilla said:
ChrisFilter
Like a boss.
Ninjaboy said:
a smokeless fire would be one burning at maximum efficiency you plank
MysteryGuest
beyond boring and interesting
The universe froze like a self-cancelling strobe in the nightclub of god.
MysteryGuest
beyond boring and interesting
My heart burst, like a party balloon blown onto the parallel powerlines of spirit. 
Mrs Magpie
On a bit of break...
He looked as inconspicuous as a tarantula on a slice of angel food.
(Raymond Chandler)
(Raymond Chandler)
trabuquera
Modesty Bag
From the immortal The Wire:
Boss drug dealer: Hey, how's business going?
Underling: Slower than a white man in slippers.
Boss drug dealer: Hey, how's business going?
Underling: Slower than a white man in slippers.
Dirty Martini
gets what he cant want
'I was distracted by the tea leaves in my cup settling gradually into a mound at the bottom, like astronauts on a planet with barely any gravity.'
Motherless Brooklyn. There are some beautiful ones in this wonderful book.
Motherless Brooklyn. There are some beautiful ones in this wonderful book.
brixtonvilla
should be Oslovilla, really
Virgil's describing Aeneas watching Troy fall from the roof of his palace:
"I start from sleep and climb the sloping roof
above the house. I stand, alerted; just
as when, with furious south winds, a fire
has fallen on a wheat field or a torrent
that hurtles from a mountain stream lays low
the meadows, low the happy crops, and low
the labour of the oxen, dragging forests
headong, and even then, bewildered and
unknowing, perched upon the rock, the shepherd
will listen to the clamour. Now indeed,
the truth is plain, thr gule of Greece made clear."
Virgil doesn't do similies by halves.
"I start from sleep and climb the sloping roof
above the house. I stand, alerted; just
as when, with furious south winds, a fire
has fallen on a wheat field or a torrent
that hurtles from a mountain stream lays low
the meadows, low the happy crops, and low
the labour of the oxen, dragging forests
headong, and even then, bewildered and
unknowing, perched upon the rock, the shepherd
will listen to the clamour. Now indeed,
the truth is plain, thr gule of Greece made clear."
Virgil doesn't do similies by halves.
Dirty Martini
gets what he cant want
brixtonvilla said:
Cracking
Doctor Carrot
Marxist Henchman
My mate: "God I fucking hate that bitch bouncer, she never lets me in"
Me: "Which one?"
My mate: "You know, the one with a face like a prop forward"
Me: "Which one?"
My mate: "You know, the one with a face like a prop forward"
Red Dwarf has some great ones, my favourite of which is "You've got a longer yellow streak than a stampede of diarrhetic camels"...
Johnny Canuck3
Well-Known Member
Groucho Marx talking to an attractive woman: "Your eyes; your eyes - they shine like the pants of a blue serge suit."
