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 brick could be placed in the trunk of a car manufacturer’s competitor, to increase the odds of decreasing their fuel efficiency.


A brick could be used as 1,2, and 4. But not 3. No, 3 is too holy for a brick. 3 is a number so magical it can only be used by a blanket.


A brick could be used as man’s best friend, if you covered it in fur and taught it to bark and shit in your neighbor’s yard. 


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.


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.


If you’re a struggling artist having money problems just superglue a brick in the middle of a blanket, and call it art. Someone will buy it.

A jet may be perfect for breaking the speed of sound, but a brick is designed to break the speed of silence. Just listen to that quietness.


A brick could be laid on a blanket, so the blanket doesn’t blow away. But why would the blanket blow away? I just turned the fan off.


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 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 could be used as a Blushometer. To find out how embarrassed you are, just measure you blushing cheeks against the rouge of a brick. 


A blanket could be used to stop the bleeding. But what if that bleeding is figurative? In that case, I’d recommend a virtual Band-Aid.


A blanket could be used to show love, by providing warmth, comfort, and an itchiness of desire that cannot be satisfied by a single scratch. 


A blanket could be used to show people the benefits of sleeping with a parachute—especially if you’ve got a flying bed like I do.