Kevin's Watch

Post the most obscure and outrageous analogy possible while referencing some part of the previous post.


I'll begin.

The movie I saw last night was like throwing a sack of cats into a cement mixer and driving it over a cliff into a volcano.

meeeeeOUCH!

There was this nappy-headed dude sitting in front of me in the theatre; his hair reminded me of one thousand guppies swimming in acid.

I've got two....

The guy's messed up like a soup sandwich.

Out of luck like a sled salesman in Egypt.

Her soup sandwich was as runny as a leper's diarrhea after a steady diet of prunes and corn oil.

Drinking a full 24 ounces of corn oil is like sliding naked through an intestinal tract filled with broken glass and coated with greased owl snot, ending in a pool of flaming alcohol and rusty razorblades.

A rusty razorblade is like a pleasant smile - assuming that you are acutely manic-depressive.

Greatest analogy ever...With all credit given to the film Hot Shots!

Playing to lose is like sleeping with your sister. Sure she's a great piece of tail with a blouse full of goodies, but it's just illegal. Then you get into that whole inbred thing. Kids with no teeth who do nothing but play the banjo... eat apple sauce through a straw... pork farm animals.

Having no teeth and playing the banjo is as trite a cliche as a creepy older former pop star that molests children under the guise of friendship. [All cliches & games aside, if guilty, this creepy older guy should be locked away forever.]

Banjo playing is like taking your fingers and jamming them into the spokes of a motorcycle traveling at 70 miles an hour down the side of the Empire State Building with your shorts filled with fire ants.

Wearing my shorts is like eating a whole orca that has been set on fire, doused in lime green matt paint, transformed by magic into Stevie Nicks, covered in mustard and dropped off a medium-sized mountain by a sherpa driving a kit car made of baby yaks.

Having a stalker is like leaping into a sea of lime green baby yaks who, in their ardant yearning to smother you with affection, cleave so relentlessly and zealously to you that they stifle your ability to draw breath and leave you with only two viable alternatives: Shove them aside and run away, or slaughter and devour them.

Being a stalker is like gargling with hemorrhoid ointment while dancing a forbidden Yemenese jig involving three pints of brine, a midget and a nine-foot length of garden twine.

The jig Melvin performed at the wedding dance will forever be likened to the performance of a crazed monkey, stuffed into a tuxedo three sizes too small, leaping around in a pit of hot coals while being stung by forty thousand ravenous fireants and suffering from acute abdominal cramping.

At first glance any wedding dance seems like it involves acute abdominal cramping; however, the experience is really similar to that ancient nursing home rite of passage where you projectile vomit prune juice along with an unclean upper denture plate into your roommates tapioca, without saying anything to them. The only question is whether you feel like the vomitor or the recipient of the special bonus pudding.

being on the receiving end of her special pudding was like being nailed to the inside of a rather large mountain goat and being forced down the rim of an active volcano while have turpentine force fed to you through a breathing tube.

riding a mountain goat is like sitting on a jackhammer that is precariously perched upon the top of the Sears Tower with a seat composed of flaming napalm and Piranha fish teeth while Air force 15 Eagles fire sidewinder missles at your face.

Sitting on napalm and piranha teeth is not advised, if only for the piranha's sake. The last time I sat in such a seat, I felt as if I were being mauled and slowly eaten by a rabid pack of Disneyland Characters.

being forced amongst Disneyland characters is like taking an umbrella and slowly forcing it up your nostril and then opening and closing it in rapid succession, like an epileptic at a rave.

Snorting an umbrella post is very similar to urinating on an electric fence, except for the placement of the umbrella.

Urinating is like being hit in the head by a little old lady's razor-edged handbag, coated in cianide and lemon juice, while trying to solve a 20, 000-piece jigsaw of a blank sheet of paper, using only a minefield as a table.