ok I wrote up all the dirt for typing funny characters over here...
http://www.able2know.com/forums/viewtopic.php?t=12996
Would M.A.S.H.ed wabbits make a good pate? Probably good with cwackers. Animal cwackers.
Sorry about your back, bunny. It might be a good idea to stop with the heaving unless it involves heaving bosoms,(sp?) as in gorgeous hunks and ripped bodices.
C'est la vie, MA!
Thank you Monger - have we umlauts?
Diane - does anyone HAVE bodices any more? Were they ripped by lustful men, or by the forces of the panting lustful bazooms contained therein, by the armour of fragile stitches?
I didn't know that about rabbits! We DO have a lot of the lil smeggers... several of them in our yard. But I just gave up on the vegetabling and planted wildflowers, and concentrate on their cuteness.
Could THEY be responsible for our ailing giant lilac? They do hang around there a lot. Hmmmmmmmm...
I don't care that this is probably NOT from genuine student papers - I think it is funny anyway:
Hi mum,
Here's an email version of the things I showed/have
shown you on Monday night.
some of these are pretty funny
These are metaphors from GCSE essays.
McMurphy fell 12 stories (sic), hitting the pavement
like a paper bag filled with vegetable soup
Her hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a
sneeze.
His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking
alliances like underpants in a tumble dryer.
The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly
the way a bowling ball wouldn't.
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.
Editor's note - actually, I think this next one is
excellent!
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.
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.
'Oh, Jason, take me!' she panted, her breasts heaving
like a student on a two-pints-for-the-price-of-one
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.
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 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 cash point.
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.
!!
From whatever I have heard abt the level of education in UK - I wont be surprised if all this is true !
Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if those were actual excerpts from Engineering students required to take an Arts credit, so they chose Creative Writing.
Nah, don't think they are real...the constructions are a little too perfect for the gags. But funny they definitely are.
My ex, who taught ages four through ten, kept a journal of things her kids had said. But at those ages, the mistakes on language and understanding are too endearing...one's response is to want the speaker so you can hug them and gain, at least for a second, some whiff of those clouds of glory trailing.
I always remember a friend's 3 year old - brought up in a frank and open household, to say the least.
One afternoon, said friend, Michael - a huge man - was strapping the 3 year old into her little kiddy seat. Normally a very calm, patient, person, Michael was in a bad mood that day, and was uncharacteristically impatient when little one was wriggling and being unco-operative.
She put her dimpled hands on her diminutive hips, gazed up at him angrily from her tiny seat, like a wee David challenging Goliath, and, from her rosebud mouth came the following words:
"Don't you ******* take your bad mood out on ME, thank you, Michael!"
Her father apologised.
I am also minded of my ridiculously linguistically advanced god daughters (academic household). The elder, at nearly three, responded from upstairs when I called her one day - after a pause: "I'm sorry, Auntie Deb - I can't come right now - I seem to have become entangled in the bedclothes..."
A few years later, I rang just after their father had abruptly run off with a graduate student, and the younger girl, then five, when I asked how she was, said; "Well, daddy has gone away with another woman, you know - really, I do believe he doesn't love us any more. I am quite angry."
!!!!!!!!!!
You recalled for me an incident many, many years ago. My Aunt was driving a carload of children home from a day at the lake. I was an adolescent then, but her daughter was just three. As it became later, and the sun was going down, Julie became exasperated with what she saw as the unaccountably long time it was taking. She put her hands on her hips and said: "Mother, i'm trying to get home!"
Both very funny stories guys
You think that's impressive? My cousin's stepdaughter, about 2 years old when he and her mom got married, went on the wedding-dress shopping trip. While they were browsing through the section for the, shall we say, more humble budget, she wanders over to the more expensive dresses, pulls a handful of sh!t out of her pants, and starts fingerpainting. Yep, an advanced kid, that one is. Entangled in the bedclothes, indeed. This one was making powerful points without resorting to the feeble human trick of using language.
Actually, Deb, some of those metaphors are uncommonly clever. James Thurber would have been envious.
among my sister's first full sentences, spoken to my stunned and speechless mother was this jewel:"Do not yell at me, it is not pedagogically sane!" ...must have picked it up on the street in a bad neighborhood somewhere...
Kids! They be getting smarter all the time...it's scary.
I agree, MA - my favourite is the Glenda Jackson one.
