Due to my previous incarnation teaching freshman English, I appreciate your point, but am forced to call it a simile instead of a metaphor.
Meanwhile, the new nurse took one look at me squirming like a grub on a griddle (a simile) and said restless leg syndrome.
Judging by the Mayo Clinic's attempts to explain medicine to the masses, she's right on the money (a dead metaphor).
Fortunately, my unruly legs have quieted down, leaving me to hope that this spring of my discontent will be made a glorious summer, not by any son of York, but by growing enough bone to stand on my feet again (a famous metaphor twisted to suit my situation, with no apologies to the author of Richard III).
I'm already making vague plans to try a tadpole tricycle (metaphor), since I will be as graceful on a road bike as a chimpanzee pedaling in a circus act (simile).
I'm recovered enough to feel put upon because I'd just replaced the chain, the front and rear gears, and the rear wheel before the accident, and now the bike probably looks like a modern art mobile (simile).
I apologize for taking flight off your friendly post (pedantic correction is simply rude), but scribbling like this takes my mind off the current slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.
The only Stephen King book that I remember is 'Salem's Lot, an early novel that I thought walloped the hell out of the vampire genre, a far better read than the excruciatingly bad writing of "Varney the Vampire" or the deadly dull diary exposition of Bram Stoker.
Good heavens! I may be feeling good enough to pick up a book off my electronic pile and read something more than internet jottings.
