I love those email forwards that talk about central clearing houses of the worst of writing. Aside from the Bulwer Lytton award, though, I don’t know that they really exist. The following allegedly comes from English teachers, but I don’t buy that for a moment. For one thing, if a student wrote any of the following in my class, I’d be laughing my ass off, not sending it in as an example of bad writing.
Either way – enjoy. Some are almost as good as “he burst like a ripe melon within her.”
Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.
His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.
He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without 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 grew on him like she was a colony of E.Coli, and he was room-temperature beef.
She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.
Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
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 machine.
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 instead of 7:30.
Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.