BEST. ANALOGIES. EVER.

John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.

She grew on him like she was a colony of E. Coli, and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.

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.

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 p.m. instead of 7:30.

Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a ThighMaster.

The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.

She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.

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 35 mph.


And this is why we love writing!