Clichés, while troublesome, can be easy to communicate. They are shared knowledge. Like bird poop. If you and I were on a call and I was pacing about the terrace immersed in some stimulating conversation, and I say to you abruptly "Bro, a bird just shat on me", you'll know precisely the nature of my inconvenience. Imagine, however, that I told you a murder of crows is circling exactly above me and carpet-shitting on me. You wouldn't understand it. Because even I wouldn't be able to explain it even though I'm experiencing it first hand.