Bite the Bullet and Other Clichés
How many clichés can you spot here?
“Come on, bite the bullet, grow some balls,” she said, looking daggers at him. “You’re as weak as dishwater and you’ve got to step up to the plate and stop arguing for your weaknesses.”
“Yeah, yeah, yaddyya, you’re full of it, Cliché Queen,” he said, his face like thunder. “Get off my case, mind your own beeswax and give me a break. I mean, he drinks like a fish, smokes like a train, he’s mean as a snake and bent as a dog’s hind leg. I couldn’t trust him with a dead match.”
“Greg, he’s your father,” she said, “we’re skint, we’re as poor a church mice and he’s got money to burn.”
“And money grows on trees, you’ll say, which is why banks have branches. But, joking aside, he’s as rich as Croesus but he’s stubborn as a mule and mad as a meat axe …”
“Yeah, he’s silly as a wheel,” she said, “I’ve heard it all before. But, really, you’ve got less reasons than the fingers on a butcher’s left hand and his moods turn on a dime. Admit it, you’re wimping out, you’re weak in the knees …”
“Hey, do you remember me asking for your advice? Me neither,” he said testily. “And, really, I have neither the colouring crayons nor the patience to explain him to you. He’s daft as a brush and can blow at any moment so, unless Google is your name, stop acting like you know everything.”
“You really are one sick little puppy, Greg. I mean, if he just gave us one percent of his worth you’d be as happy as a sandboy, like heaven on a stick and, yes, it won’t be a walk in the park but leave your ego at the door and face the music.”
“And you’d be as happy as a pig in mud, the best thing since sliced bread, right?” he said, his face as long as a wet weekend. “But when I front up to him, I’m all fingers and thumbs, like I’ve got foot and mouth disease. When I’m there, I feel like life is a bowl of soup and I’m a fork. I can’t string two words together. I mean, I used to be indecisive but now I’m not sure. He makes me feel I have the brain of a gnat’s kneecap.”
“This could change our lives, Greg,” she said, “give us a real break. You are weird.”
“I’m not weird; I’m a limited edition,” he said, sneaking a smile. “But maybe I could have a butcher’s hook, dip my toe in the water, give it a go. The worst he can say is no.”
“Yes, it’s clear as day he has tickets on himself but all the wisdom he has can be written on a pin-head with an axe. It’d be a doddle and I’m sure he’d fall for it, the silly old chook. And we’d be free as a bird.”
“Okay, you silver-tongued thing, I’ll hitch my braces up, pull myself up by my bootstraps and kick it into touch, right?”
“Oh, Greg, you’re as soft as a baby’s bottom but you’ve a heart of gold. You’re the apple of my eye!”
“Okey dokey, I’m off like a fart in a pie shop. See you later alligator.”
“See you soon, baboon.”[1]
[1] The topic for the Carindale Writing Group was around 500 words on Bite the Bullet. So I used this cliché to start a 500-word story with as many clichés as I could fit in. Then, when I read the story to the group, I asked them to have pen and paper out and tick each time they recognised a cliché or saying they’d heard before. Whoever ended up with the most ticks won a prize – Robert won with 52 of the 72 clichés and won my book, 53 SMILES, a book of 53 53-word stories.