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

Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the centre.

 

Her vocabulary was as poor as, like, whatever.

 

He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.

 

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 6.36pm traveling at 55mph, the other from Peterborough at 4.19pm at a speed of 35mph.

 

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.

 

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.

 

The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.

 

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 ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a lamppost.

 

The dandelion swayed in the gentle breeze like an oscillating electric fan set on medium.

 

He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a bin lorry reversing.