A brick could be used to decorate the interior of your anus. Here, bend over and let me demonstrate. 


A brick could be used like a giraffe could be used as a neck warmer. You could also use my foreskin. 


A brick could be used as a floatation device. But only use it if the person drowning is a politician.


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


I want to upholster the inside lining of my nostrils with leather, to have that "new car smell" all the time.

I want to meet a guy named Art. I'd take him to a museum, hang him on the wall, criticize him, and leave.

He was like a jalapeño, bright and smooth, but dangerously hot. A small part of me wanted to bite him.

I have a fist like a brick, but I don’t punch through walls—I build them and become them. 


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


I drank my lava lamp to get the party started. Later on I made love like a volcano, while I watched TV alone.

I’d drink from a hose, but I wouldn’t drink from a horse. I have other ways of showing I love you.

When she offered me a spot of tea, I said, “No thanks, I’ve already got a spot of tea on my shirt.

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


Holding hands with your lover is special, especially when that hand is plastic, and that lover is a mannequin.

I wanted to tell her I loved her, but I chickened out, like a beef taco. The crunchy kind, not the soft shell.