Okay, just to lighten the mood from my last heart-pouring blog, I thought I'd pass along pieces of one of the few forwarded e-mails that I've been pleased to receive in the last eight years of my life. Maybe only Lynnea will laugh at these, but if any of you are like me, you'll laugh out loud for a lot of these. I picked the best ones. The top of this e-mail says "Actual analogies and metaphors found in high school essays."
He spoke with the wisdom that can only come fromexperience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipsewithout 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.
She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.
He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.
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 ATM.
The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.
McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.
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 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.
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.
John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.
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.
So, that was hopefully as fun for all of you as it was for me just a few minutes ago. Comments, complaints, compliments, please send to Stephen Hubka c/o the wonderful Crown blogger made by Lynnea. I'll try to keep my stories of long-lost love to myself from now on. Anybody heard from Kurbis in a while? Did he move to Mocanbequ? Oh, and if anybody hasn't written to Molly Donelson in a while and wants to time their sole e-mail to perfection, her birthday is this week, so if you'd like to say happy birthday, sometime near then would be good. Crazy that in a few months, it'll be the second time I'll celebrate my birthday while blogging. Man, I miss not having a job. Wait, that's still me, nine months later. I seriously have great typing skills. Look at this stuff. Okay, discount the bad parts, but look at the volume alone. I'm done. Hope everybody is doing well. Gabe, is this what you really missed?
He spoke with the wisdom that can only come fromexperience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipsewithout 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.
She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.
He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.
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 ATM.
The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.
McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.
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 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.
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.
John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.
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.
So, that was hopefully as fun for all of you as it was for me just a few minutes ago. Comments, complaints, compliments, please send to Stephen Hubka c/o the wonderful Crown blogger made by Lynnea. I'll try to keep my stories of long-lost love to myself from now on. Anybody heard from Kurbis in a while? Did he move to Mocanbequ? Oh, and if anybody hasn't written to Molly Donelson in a while and wants to time their sole e-mail to perfection, her birthday is this week, so if you'd like to say happy birthday, sometime near then would be good. Crazy that in a few months, it'll be the second time I'll celebrate my birthday while blogging. Man, I miss not having a job. Wait, that's still me, nine months later. I seriously have great typing skills. Look at this stuff. Okay, discount the bad parts, but look at the volume alone. I'm done. Hope everybody is doing well. Gabe, is this what you really missed?
1 Comments:
Beautiful! Have you ever seen the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest? It awards the worst possible first line of a novel. The winner this year:
They had but one last remaining night together, so they embraced each other as tightly as that two-flavor entwined string cheese that is orange and yellowish-white, the orange probably being a bland Cheddar and the white . . . Mozzarella, although it could possibly be Provolone or just plain American, as it really doesn't taste distinctly dissimilar from the orange, yet they would have you believe it does by coloring it differently.
http://www2.sjsu.edu/depts/english/2003.htm
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bradley, at 12:57 AM
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