When I felt stuck at work, my colleague reminded me that a change is as good as a rest, so I spent the afternoon on a different project.

By midnight the old theater was quiet as a grave.

After the long winter, the old fisherman looked wisht as a winnard, barely able to haul in the nets.

My phone has been slow as tar ever since the update.

He walked into the kitchen drunk as an owl and slurred his words to everyone.

The plan to launch next week without testing seemed crazy as a soup sandwich to everyone on the team.

The oak tree in the village square looked old as time, its gnarled branches sheltering generations.

After the mechanic fixed the dent and replaced the worn parts, my bicycle looked as good as new.

That idea was dumb as a doorknob.

The software automatically marks as read any emails that are older than a week.