A brick could be used as a paperweight, for people whose writing isn’t as dense or weighty as mine.


A brick could be used as one ingredient on the greedy Cake of Love. Other ingredients include: Everything.


A blanket could be used in exciting medical advancements, curing everything from shivers to tonitrophobia.


A brick could be affixed to each end of an axle, for an example of transportation in a pre-wheel society. 


A brick could be used to illustrate your innocence. I can help you with that, because I brought a crayon. 


If my semen had chunks of crumbled brick in it, would you use yogurt to try to impregnate your fireplace? 


A blanket could be used to spread the love around. Tuck it in at the edges, so nobody can hog all the amor.


A brick could be used to bring about a pantsless revolution. A zipper is just a gate holding you back, man.


A brick could be used to cut things. The duller the object, the sharper the user has to be to make it work.


Bricks could be used as breast implants. Lady Squaretits is really particular about the shape of her boobs.


My love is like the shape your mouth makes while you whistle. Would you mind if I accompanied you on my harmonica?

Kick the blanket, don’t kick the bucket—especially if that bucket is full of death (or bricks).


A brick could be used as a basketball. And when you miss a shot, you can always shout, “Brick!”


A brick should decide who gets to rule the people, and I should decide what rules determine whom the brick favors.

Cats are living, breathing blankets. But a blanket, no matter how furry, cannot be used like a purrless cat.