Here is a love story about two people. James and Megan had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met. Megan was a sight for eyes that would be sore from looking at sights that were not quite as sightful. She caught your eye like one of those pointy hook latches that used to dangle from screen doors and would fly up whenever you banged the door open again. Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the center. Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever. James was tall. He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree. James was a wiseman. 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. He believed the only good Chinaman was a dead Chinaman, so he went to Tiananmen Square and gave them all candy. Except instead of candy he killed them. One night they were eating dinner. The date was pleasant enough, but she knew that if her life was a movie this guy would be buried in the credits as something like "Second Tall Man." 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. James was as perplexed as a hacker who means to access T:flw.quid55328.com\aaakk/ch@ung but gets T:\flw.quidaaakk/ch@ung by mistake. They decided to leave on a boat; The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.
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. They met at a red brick hotel; The red brick wall was the color of a brick-red Crayola crayon. Eventually they got married, kind of like a civil union, only not a civil union, but marriage. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth.
So what'd you guys think? Did you like my metaphors and analogies? Pretty impressive shit, yes? One might even say they are the worst analogies of all time?
Post edited at 9:04 am on Oct. 26, 2009 by JamesByron
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I enjoyed it vey much.
