Simile

A simile is a figure of speech that directly compares two different things, usually by employing the words "like" or "as".

“I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!!! YOU KIDS ARE DRIVING ME INSANE!” Mr. Gingrich shouted as he stormed out of the Gifted room. Chris, Laura, Katie, and I shifted our weight and gazed around the room uncomfortably. The drone of the air conditioning filled the awkward silence that stuffed the room like a too-full turkey on Thanksgiving. ”Umm…” I said to Laura, unsure of what to do. “PARTY!” Chris shouted as he jumped up, dancing. His hips moved like that of Andrew Martz’s in the school musical. He rather resembled an autistic monkey, actually. Music played from the Heavens (also, less affectionately known as the intercom) as the entire school rejoiced in Mr. Gingrich’s absence.



After quickly returning home, Mr. Gingrich grabbed his suitcase and stuffed it with more clothing and shoes than resides in the entire store of Macy’s. Stumbling outside, suitcase in tow, he tripped over an unfortunately placed cat. Glaring down at the little creature, he found it to be black at both ends but white in the middle, rather like a cookie. “I shall dub thee…OREOOOOO!” he screamed, hitting the cat with a twig. After snatching the cat, he ran the whole way to Harrisburg International Airport…without stopping.



Upon arriving at the airport, Mr. Gingrich boarded the nearest plane. We have yet to figure out how Oreo got through Customs, but we think that he’s just so darn cute that the officials just couldn’t resist. //Flight Number 666 bound for Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateapokaiwhenuakitanatahu is ready for takeoff!// the pilot announced emphatically. “Where in the—“ Mr. Gingrich pondered. “So are you familiar with New Zealand?” a heavily accented voice asked. This voice belonged to a large older woman with copious amounts of eye shadow. She was wearing a long, green polka dot dress with tiny pineapples interspersed throughout the pattern. She held in her grimy hand a copy of “Food Rules” by Michael Pollan. “Er, no, not really. This is my first time going there.” “It’s a lovely place! Then again, I’m a bit biased, eh? My grandkids live in the States so I visit them whenever I get a chance. If I can ask, why are you headed to Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateapokaiwhenuakitanatahu?” “Well, honestly, I am—was?—a teacher. My students just drove me insane and I had to get out. I just grabbed my stuff, ran to the airport and got on the first plane I saw that was leaving soon. I see that you’re reading “Food Rules”…are you enjoying it so far?” he inquired with eyebrows raised higher than the corn stalks in a small Iowan town in July. “ Ah, yes. It’s certainly interesting.” “It’s one of my favourites!” he beamed. “What is your name?” “Christopher Gingrich, you?” “Mawmaw!” They continued like this for the entire 20 hours and 48 minutes that it took to finally arrive in Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateapokaiwhenuakitanatahu. Mr. Gingrich had just made a new best friend.