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 These are absolutely classic.........
 
 These are metaphors from actual GCSE essays
 
 Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two other
 sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.
 
 His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances
 like underpants in a tumble dryer.
 
 She caught your eye like one of those pointy hook latches that
 used to dangle from doors and would fly up whenever you banged the
 door open again.
 
 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 hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze.
 
 Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the
 centre.
 
 Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, 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 York at 6:36 p.m. travelling at 55 mph, the other from
 Peterborough at 4:19  p.m. 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, Grandpa had a mind like a steel trap, only
 one that had been left out so long it had rusted shut.
 
 The door had been forced, as forced as the dialogue during the
 interview portion of Family Fortunes.
 
 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. ( I have actually got a brother called
 Phil).
 
 The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not
 eating for a while.
 
 Oh, Jason, take me!" she panted, her breasts heaving like a
 student on 31p-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
 land mine or something.
 
 Her artistic sense was exquisitely refined, like someone who can
 tell butter from "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter."
 
 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 knife was as sharp as the tone used by Glenda Jackson MP in
 her first of several points of parliamentary procedure made to
 Robin Cook MP,Leader of the House of Commons, in the House
 Judiciary Committee hearings on the suspension of Keith Vaz MP.
 
 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.
 
 The dandelion swayed in the gentle breeze like an oscillating
 electric fan set on medium.
 
 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 Daily Star crossword.
 
 She grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli and he was
 room-temperature British beef.
 
 She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.
 
 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.

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