A brick could be substituted in for Kansas as a US state, because they’re roughly the same shape, they have the same topography, and I just found Topeka without the aid of a microscope.


A blanket could be considered part of performance art, if you’re inconsiderate and steal all the covers while we’re asleep—and film me shivering and twitching in the night. 


A brick could be used to unite two long-lost brothers. They’ve been apart for six inches, and that’s entirely too long, and I think it’d be good to bring them back together.


A brick could be used to gauge the level of reciprocated sexual interest of the person or object of your desire. A brick works best, however, when the focus of your lust is the brick itself. 


A brick could be used to double back, donkey levitate cough meow cough meow hiss on giraffe shaft stroke a local bloke bludgeon Armageddon—not my arm, Sorry, I think I just had a stroke.


A brick could be used as a boat, and due to the brick’s reputation of indestructibility, we could call the boat “The Titanic.” Surely a brick with that name would never sink.


A brick could be used to represent society as a whole. But to represent society as a half, I’d recommend using either a full carton of half and half, or a half-full carton of whole milk.


I wrote this piece because my mailbox was full of bills, junk mail, and lettuce, but not a single letter from Andre Breton. So I decided I’d write to him (though I did eat my first two drafts).

A brick could be used as a scapegoat. But don’t blame the brick. The brick didn’t kill my mother-in-law. It was merely the instrument I utilized in showing her how much I loved her.


A brick could be used to balance work and play. Just place the brick on the top of your head, and don’t let it drop. This will ensure you don’t play too hard—or work too hard.


A brick could be dropped in a toilet to replicate the sound of shitting bricks. But we wouldn’t have to go through all that trouble if you’d just eat the bricks I put on your plate.


A brick could be used to sell new shoes to a man with no hands. I would say a brick could be used to sell a handless man new gloves, but that’s a bit of a stretch, even for a rubber band.


A brick could used to translate and transform long cuneiform texts into shorter tweets. Sure, just take the brick and smash the clay tablets, and each broken fragment should be roughly 140 characters.

Bricks could be used to generate smiles among the general population. Just hand them out, along with handshakes, and say, This will make everything OK. And guess what? They’ll believe you.


A brick could be used to replace the dollar as the world’s reserve currency. Don’t laugh, because at least the brick is real and useful, unlike the dollar, which is fake and useless.