The Perfect Analogy

If there's one thing I can count on, it's that I have a Corner Gas reference for any situation.

Hank: "Pretty ironic, huh?
Brent: "What is?"
Hank: "You need to see in order to tighten your glasses, but you can only see by wearing your glasses."
Brent: "That's not really ironic, it's more of a Catch-22."
Hank: "It's like if you had a hearing aid and to adjust it, you had to hear things."
Brent: "I'd be turning mine off right about now."
Hank: "No, wait—It's like if they had a device that people who had no sense of smell used to help them smell, and to use it they had to smell."
Brent: "Yeah, there it is, the perfect analogy. Anything else would be gilding the lily."

The perfect analogy. Could there be any greater satisfaction than crafting such a thing?

No analogy is ever perfect, but I say that heaping on simile after simile creates a fantastic Superanalogy. As the number of parts approaches infinity, the superanalogy's representation approaches perfect.

My best friend and I are two of a kind. But we're more than that, too.

We're like two beans in a pod. A pair of mittens. A bowl and a cup both filled with the same soup. It's like we're shopping in the same cereal aisle. Riding the same ferry. Like a little set of booties and a little vest being worn by the same dog. Like an umbrella and hood under the same raindrops. Like a pair of boots in the same puddle. Two jokes with the same punchline. A cat, and another cat. Birds of a feather? Heck, it's as if we are actually the same duck.

We are the perfect analogy, the supersimile, the megametaphor, with a friendship that can only be approximated by an infinite number of relevant analogies. No greater satisfaction indeed.