Simile

Simile (si’-mi-lee): An explicit comparison, often (but not necessarily) employing “like” or “as.”

I was going to fly like an eagle. I was off to my freshman year of college at Tony Pecker University. Pecker had made a fortune cleaning up brownfields throughout America, and then, reselling them to unwitting people. He was famous for the elementary school that was built on one of his so-called “remediated” sites. All the students came down with tumors covering 80% of their bodies. None of then got past the age of 12. Pecker was sued but he got off by claiming it wasn’t his fault. He never explained exactly why it wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t matter, it was a jury trial. The jurors showed up the second day of Pecker’s trial wearing big gold chains with big gold crosses hanging from them.

Anyway, Tony Pecker University is built on one of Pecker’s brownfield sites. Many of the students suffer from hair loss and discoloration of their teeth, neither is fatal and after graduation their hair returns and their teeth return to their normal color. So, it’s no big deal. I had had my head shaved in anticipation of losing it. My head looked like a shiny pink muskmelon.

You may wonder why I’m going to Tony Pecker University. I’m not very smart and none of my high school teachers would write me a letter of recommendation. They would tell me that “I would have to accept my limited reach,” or “College isn’t for you,” or “You’ve made me feel like a failure as a teacher.” Then, I found out that my great uncle “Ponzi” had gone to Pecker. He was extremely wealthy and bribed the Dean of Admissions to let me in. He had a horrible rash on his right hand that he had contracted when he was a student at Pecker. He credited the rash with enabling him to weasel out of bad business deals. Due to his rash, people wouldn’t shake hands with him when it came time to seal a deal. So, technically, the deal wasn’t made. He was grateful to Pecker University for the rash. He told me if I wanted a rash like his, I should wash my hands daily in the toilet bowl in the second stall from the right in the second floor men’s room in Polly Hall.

Anyway, I can read and write. I can’t do math, but who cares. As a legacy, I’m allowed to make up my own degree program. My personal program is titled “Dogs.” i will be learning all about dogs—why they have four legs, the aesthetics of tail wagging and tail chasing, barking in different languages, faithfulness, playing catch, sniffing, and much, much more. It will be rewarding for me and for the dogs I will be keeping in my room: it’s like a doggie mansion, with a “man” in the mansion. Ha ha!

I think I want to be a dog walker when I graduate. I am going to move the New York City. It’s like a gold mine for dog walkers. I am planning in competing in “Broadway On A Leash,” the annual competition to see who can walk the most dogs at once down a quarter mile stretch of Broadway’s sidewalk.

I’m arriving at Pecker now and driving through the gates. I will be greeted by a bald RA who will show me where to park, and lead me to my room. I see her! Her head looks like a muskmelon, just like mine! She has beautiful eyes. Already, I’m falling in love.

Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).

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