More Terrible Similes

Similes are amazing to me. You can do anything with a simile. I remember as a kid I had this dinosaur book with like three separate panels that you could flip over and there was a head-panel and a body-panel and a tail-panel and so you could make any kind of combination of dinosaur you wanted. I loved that book. I still love that book. I always loved combining stuff. A simile is like this laser in your head and you can point it at the dogs and robots-made-out-of-tuna-cans in your head and fuse them together in this hideous yet beautiful way.

I think a lot of people treat having kids like getting a tattoo. I can't understand why anyone would want to be stuck with either for the rest of their life. And it seems like once you get one, chances are very high that you're going to get another. Also, a lot of the time the people with way too many of either look like they regret some major life choices. Or should regret them. They both seem like futile attempts to make a lasting, physical impression on this already overcrowded and overstimulated planet OR the result of a night of heavy drinking.


Inner Tubes are like Waffle Irons. I'm not gonna spoon-feed you that one. You gotta work it out for yourself. Think about it. It's not dirty. Unless you want it to be.

A yard full of old crackly leaves is like bubble wrap for the outdoors. Furthermore, if a person were accidentally involved in a freak radioactive accident that rearranged their matter-y molecules and turned them into a sentient being composed of either of these things, they'd be monsters that would bring joy and happiness to small children. Which is actually way more sad to me than the typical version of that story. Here's a person who's basically walking around in a living hell, unable to ever rejoin a society that will mercilessly scorn him for a change he could not control and yet he can't even get his rightful blood-thirsty vengeance. He can only increase the happiness of the people that hate him at his own expense. I'm just saying, crackly-leaves-monster and bubble-wrap-thing, I feel your special pain. Radioactive-mass-of-pure-evil you can take care of yourself.

Swimming pools are like apartments. I'm secretly scared of both because they could have Old Effeminate Southern Men hiding and waiting to pull me down to the darkest depths of their Plantation Hole.

Commercials are like parasitic worms on your brain. But it's good because it sort of makes you aware that you have a brain and it's worth protecting. So your brain is like a baby that you keep under some ham in a basket and the commercials are like hungry wolves in the forest. And it'd be great if there weren't any wolves but at least they remind you, "Oh yeah! There's a baby under that ham! And, OH YEAH! DELICIOUS HAM!" And also, that ham is like a magic wrinkly old man named Greddis Trooperderdisdisdis. And he watches over you when you sleep so your hands don't try to escape in the night.

Well, that's the world as I sees it and am willing to report to the internet.