A brick could replace your window, if your window’s opaque, and you throw the brick hard enough.


A brick could be used in the back part of a director’s last name, to make an epic space odyssey.


A brick could be used to raise my spirits. I’m feeling low right now, low by about three inches.


A brick could be used to sway the voters. But if you really want to sway them, try using a catchy song.


A brick could be tied to a cape, and then exalted as a superhero. Is that any more absurd than Superman?


A brick could be used as a flashlight. What, still dark? Check the batteries, because they may be dead. 


A blanket could be used to mimic the mating call of my crumpled-up clone. Isn’t silence seductive?


Love is like building a wall with two bricks and a ton of wind. Obviously you and your lover are bricks.


A blanket could be used to catch a hippopotamus. But you try it out first, and let me know if it works. 


For loose teeth the tooth fairy recommends tying your tooth to a brick and throwing said brick down the stairs.

A brick could be used to enslave humanity. No wait, a brick can’t do that—but the Masons can.


A blanket could be used to water down the water. Don’t do it now! Wait until I am finished bathing.


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


The Bible talks about building houses on sand and rock, but says nothing about a brick house built on a blanket.

On is to no, as Dora J. Arod is to Dora J. Arod. And brick is to blanket, as Dora J. Arod is to Jarod Ora.