All taken from "genuine" GCSE English exam papers
His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like
underpants in a tumble dryer.
Murphy fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a paper bag filled
with vegetable soup.
Her hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze.
Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the centre
Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
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 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
31p-a-pint 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.
Her artistic sense was exquisitely refined, like someone who can tell
butter from "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter."
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.
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 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.
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