Whatever jokes

Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two other sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.

His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a tumble dryer.

She caught your eye like one of those pointy hook latches that used to dangle from doors and would fly up whenever you banged the door open again.

The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.

McMurphy 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 center

Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.

He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.

The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.

Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left York at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Peterborough at 4:19p.m.at a speed of 35 mph.

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 red brick wall was the color of a brick-red crayon.

Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long it had rusted shut.

The door had been forced, as forced as the dialogue during the interview portion of Family Fortunes.

Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.

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.

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.

The knife was as sharp as the tone used by Glenda Jackson MP in her first several points of parliamentary procedure made to Robin Cook MP, Leader of the House of Commons, in the House Judiciary Committee hearings on the suspension of Keith Vaz MP.

The ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a lamppost.

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 cashpoint.

The dandelion swayed in the gentle breeze like an oscillating electric fan set on medium.

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 was as easy as the Daily Star crossword.

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.

So, he goes down the road to the next farmer and asks if he has a rooster which he would sell. The other farmer says, "Yeah, I've got this great rooster named Chuck. He'll service every chicken you got, no problem."

Well, Chuck the rooster costs a lot of money, but the farmer decides he'd be worth it. So, he buys Chuck. The farmer takes Chuck home and sets him down in the barnyard, first, giving the rooster a pep talk, "Chuck, I want you to pace yourself now. You've got a lot of chickens to service here, and you cost me a lot of money. Consequently, I'll need you to do a good job. So, take your time and have some fun," the farmer said, with a chuckle.

Chuck seemed to understand, so the farmer points toward the hen house, and Chuck took off like a shot. - WHAM! - Chuck nails every hen in the hen house - - three or four times, and the farmer is really shocked. After that the farmer hears a commotion in the duck pen, sure enough, Chuck is in there. Later, the farmer sees Chuck after a flock of geese, down by the lake. Once again, - WHAM! - He gets all the geese.

By sunset he sees Chuck out in the fields chasing quail and pheasants. The farmer is distraught—worried that his expensive rooster won't even last 24 hours. Sure enough, the farmer goes to bed and wakes up the next day to find Chuck dead as a doorknob—stone cold in the middle of the yard. Buzzards are circling overhead.

The farmer, saddened by the loss of such a colorful and expensive animal, shakes his head and says, "Oh Chuck, I told you to pace yourself. I tried to get you to slow down, now look what you've done to yourself."

Chuck opens one eye, nods toward the buzzards circling in the sky and says, "Shhhh, they're getting closer....."

Auld Fang Syne!

Answer: ell-if-i-no (Hell if I know)