Love is the elephant we’re all trying to mouse down. Who am I to tell you that sex with furniture is not a “real” relationship?

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 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.


She got me nothing for my birthday. When I saw the empty box, I said, “Ah, you shouldn’t have!” I love a box full of emptiness.

Last Sunday it was cloudy, and I thought, Who named this day?
Then I thought, Why is there no Loveday? Naturally, It would follow Jarodday.

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.


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.


Our two hands were held together by love—and adhesive. Let no man separate what God hath joined together! Is it crazy? Yes—Krazy Glue.