Metaphorically Speaking II


by William Crisp


It is definitely visitor driving season, which really is problematic if you’ve got somewhere to go by a certain time around here. We don’t have much in the way of passing lanes. I’m fairly certain some vehicles are being driven by peddling.  Suffering through the current traveling situation means I’ve gotten good at swearing, explaining why I’m late and metaphors for slowness. 

Once again diving into my source of many metaphors by Bob Bowman (more metaphors than I can hit swinging a dead cat over my head), I have found some ways to pass the time.

He is, “Slower than a cream rising. She is slow as fleas running off a dead dog. He moved like a flock of turtles. He couldn’t catch a fever. She is slower than mud. He wouldn’t hurry if the hogs were eating him. So slow he reminds me of syrup in February or Molasses running uphill in the cold. It takes him forever to tree a coon. He is slower than a crippled turtle and a snail on crutches.” 



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