The second in an occasional series of Found Metaphors.
And no pedantry about similes. First, I hate the word 'simile'. It makes me think of a monkey and a spelling mistake and spilled milk. Second, I barely ever notice true metaphors. They so often seem perfectly literal to me. So best alert me with 'like', really. I like it that way.
Today's entry wins not only for being brilliantly funny, but for being the kind of perfectly evocative that baby descriptions hope to grow up to be.
In Terry Pratchett's Mort, Death and Mort are being served curry by a Klatchian waiter:
The man was squat and brown, with a hairstyle like a coconut gone nova.
2 comments:
coconut novae are a spectacular refreshing sight
the milk that comes from this occasion glows in the dark, and glows in a dark park
Well, I can't top that, but the post does inspire me to slip Going Postal into my fiction reading queue just as soon as I've read the last six hundred pages of Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell.
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