A brick could be crushed, mixed with water, and drunk like a sports drink. And hey, with no bromated vegetable oil, it’s healthier than Gatorade.


Bricks could be used like trophies. And if we give them to everyone, just for participating, then collectively we could build a big House of Emptiness.


A blanket could be divided into four even parts and given to three equal people. I’d be an ideal politician, because I believe in social progress.


A blanket, no matter how thin, could be sliced thinner, and in this way one blanket could be used to keep a multitude of people warm. But not that warm.


A brick could be used to start a civil war. And then that same brick could be used to start building the country up again after everything is destroyed.


A blanket could be used as a bathtub tarp, keeping all the body’s heat in, and the police’s and murder victim’s wife’s eyes out.


A brick and a blanket could be used to show creativity, by making them the subjects of a divergence test. Oh wait, that’s what this is. Nevermind.


A brick could be used to declare war on a country made of glass. I’ll bet those citizens would love to drink vodka dyed blue like window cleaner. 


A blanket could be used to alter the future. But so can setting your watch ahead five minutes. Trust me, I’ve been to the future, and I was late. 


A brick could be used to wash your hands. And after that, I’d suggest you wash out your filthy mouth. Scrub it clean, you scatological talker you.


My love smells like an empty mayonnaise jar. It ought to, because that’s where I store it. Coincidentally, my love also looks and tastes like mayonnaise.

The Mile High City has mile-high expectations. That’s 5,280 feet, you know. That’s five millipedes and 2.8 centipedes for all you lovers out there.

A brick could be inserted in your chest in place of your heart. And for just a couple thousand dollars more, an artificial heart could replace the brick.


A blanket could be used to help my career. Things have gone cold in this economic depression, so anything to help warm things up would be most welcomed. 


A football could be swapped out for a brick, to make family reunion football games more fun. But I’m calling it right now: I get to be quarterback.