A brick could be used to slow down time. Sort of like a camel in a wheelchair pushed by a thirsty Arab. Hey, Khalid, wait up a second!


A blanket could be used to stop the bleeding. But dammit you’re going to have to hurry, before I bleed out all over the carpet. 


A brick could be used to tell how hard the wind is blowing. If the wind blows the brick around, I’d get out of there immediately.


A brick could be used as toilet paper—especially if you just shit a brick. You could shit and wipe your way to a wall of privacy.


A blanket could be used for anti-population-control purposes. Get naked and get under the blanket and I’ll show you how it works.


Which half do you want me to cut in half, Mr. Halfofhalf?
The name’s Onequarter. Johnny Onequarter. And don’t you forget it.

A blanket isn’t the solution, a blanket is the problem. I say we burn all the blankets, along with the bodies of the unbelievers.


A brick could be hidden in the dirt, for future archaeologists to dig up and declare, “Wow! This was one advanced society.”


A blanket could be used to help acclimate your body for your after death experience. Hell is hot, so you’d better warm up first. 


My routine is comforting, like a comforter. But a blanket could easily be used to replace my routine, because a comforter is a blanket.


A brick could be used to sell tickets to a new sport called Glurping. If you think it sounds disgusting now, wait until you see it live!


A blanket could be used to lure politicians to your side of an issue. Which is your side? Easy—the side I’m not sleeping on.


I want to lose weight by eating nothing but moon pies, which have significantly less gravity than earthier foods such as fruits and vegetables.

Her love was like cigarette smoke stirred into coffee. I drank it so fast it made me cough, but she’s not offering a refill at any price.

My name is Davis Davis. And don’t call me Mr. Davis! How would you like it if I called you Mr. Archibald, or whatever your first name is?