Magazine article The Spectator


Magazine article The Spectator


Article excerpt

In Competition No. 2691 you were invited to submit toe-curlingly bad analogies. Gratitude and respect to my opposite number over at the Washington Post's Style I nvitational contest from whom I plundered this idea. So impressed was I by the sublimely funny winning entries this challenge generates across the pond that I felt compelled to throw down the gauntlet to Spectator competitors. You did me proud:

I squirmed and chuckled my way through an entry of inspired awfulness.

The first five winners, printed below, pocket £18 each; the rest get £10.

The state of the bathroom could only bring to mind the surface of a remote planet in which dungheaps and memphitic swamps co-existed with the entire toiletries and fragrances range of Galeries Lafayette.

The accountant had the world-weary air of a ferret that had been up so many trouser legs that life held no more surprises.

How to describe this novel? Picture it as The Aeniad meets Othello meets Moby Dick meets Peter Rabbit meets Mein Kampf meets the Tractatus LogicoPhilosophicus meets The Highway Code.

I n that ballpark, anyway.

G M. Davis

His morals were as twisted as an expensive Sicilian corkscrew that had been used as a way of extracting the pith from a bad apple before being driven over by an E ddie Stobart truck.

She gazed at him as lovingly as if he were her earlobe, replete with a diamond-encrusted earring, as reflected in a Parisian mirror.

She spoke as throatily as if a frog and its family had got into her throat and smoked a few packets of Peter Stuyvesant before growing claws and scratching at the inside of her thorax.

Bill Greenwell Her manner became so suddenly grim it was as though she had injected all of Aberdeen directly into a vein.

The cat's eyes were as malevolent as those of a High churchman who has just caught sight of a woman bishop.

The tarmac was grey, as though someone had inadvertently mixed whitest snow with darkest midnight, and had carelessly unloosed the result upon the unsuspecting roadway.

George Simmers

His bald head shone distinctively like one of those really expensive duck eggs that you see in the aisle next to the ordinary supermarket eggs on special offer - and you just know it's not for you.

The prosecuting lawyer's searching question left him as perplexed as if he were a contestant on Countdown and had to make a word from nine letters, five of which are Ns and Rs - with no help at all coming from the three vowels and the one remaining letter. …

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