A blanket could be used to express my condolences. I’m sorry to have to tell you I’m sorry, but that’s life, you know?


A blanket could be used to warn your enemy that you are coming—and that you are warm. Where’s the cold war when you need it?


A blanket could be used to cover up Jude McNude. But despite his last name, he isn’t nude, merely cold. No, I’m the naked one.


A blanket could be used to attract a potential mate. I’ve already got my mate. I bought her in a mannequin store (she was on sale). 


A brick could be used for pressing grapes into wine, and a magician could then cover up that wine with a blanket and turn wine into water.


A brick could be used as a Red Beard Replacement, for those of us who can’t grow facial hair, but desire the respect a beard brings.


When some Jeff tries to be other Jeffs, ain’t no Jeffrey in the house to be found smiling. Also, there are no Jeffries in this house.


A blanket could be used to feed the homeless. I mean warm the coldless. I mean coldsome. I wouldn’t know, because I’m homefull.


A brick could help get your unruly hair under control, by getting at the root of the problem—your skull. Increase force as necessary.


A blanket could be used to aid a waiter with bringing out a large order of beer. Those customers can drape themselves in soggy drunkenness.


A blanket could be used to sell your winningest product to your loserest customer. Oh, loserest is a word. I know, because I just wrote it.


A brick could be thrown, like a football, only instead of a wide receiver, I’d recommend sending out a politician to catch your pass.


A brick can’t cure cancer. But who knows, maybe a brick combined with a blanket could. I’ll have to ask Dr. Burzynski about it.


A monster’s not a monster to another monster. At least that’s what I thought when I saw my mother-in-law talking to a statue of Stalin.

A brick could be used in a levitation demonstration. The best way to keep it afloat, along with the American Dream, is with debt and denial.