A brick could be used as a Sexual Orientation Device. But I don’t need it, because I know my sexual orientation—north!


A brick could be given as a graduation gift to a C student. It’s like here, welcome to a life in the construction industry. 


A brick could be used to tell the time. If you can see it it’s daytime, and if you can’t see it it’s nighttime. 


A brick and a blanket need a logo, and I’m just the designer to hire to sit around idly as I ideally charge you by the hour.


A brick could be used to grow your annual income by a factor of four. What, you don’t believe me? Are you calling me a liar?


The clouds are like marble in the sky, and I just want to make a kitchen counter out of the atmosphere. I can cook like a flock of birds.

A blanket could be used, or it could not be used. They are opposites, but that doesn’t mean one is good and the other is bad.


A blanket could be used to tell you exactly what I mean, at precisely the moment I don’t mean it. When I say go, Don’t!


A blanket could be used to warm the hearts of all the nonbelievers. We are all nonbelievers, because nobody believes in everything.


A brick could be used to make life easier. Start carrying one around with you everywhere you go, and you’ll see what I mean. 


A brick could be used as a sex toy. Well, I say sex toy, but the politician strapped to the bed would probably say torture device. 


A blanket could be twirled in the air, like a new idea in your mind, and then either discarded or folded up like a wearable memory.


I sat next to a salmon on the sofa. After ten minutes of bear-like conversation, it was dead. Oh well, at least surrealism is still alive.

A blanket could be used to help frowners smile. I’m only halfway through the process myself, which is why I’m smirking.


A brick could be used to float a good idea at work—especially if it’s a good idea that would be bad for you personally.