A brick could be used to disguise the fact that I’m blushing. Oh my God, I’m so embarrassed! Don’t look at the rose of my ears, look at the rouge of the construction cube.


A brick is a rust-colored blur of movement, caught in a moment, and transformed from motion into a physical object. Studying this brick would give scientists an insight into how fast I run.


A brick and a blanket aptly describe my former roommate. He was as dumb as a brick, and only highly functional on a bed. Or so I heard—not that I’d know from personal experience.


I like to call in sick to work at places where I’ve never held a job. Then when the manager tells me I don’t work there, I tell them I’d like to. But not today, as I’m sick.

A blanket could be used like a giant piece of paper. Most people just want to cum on it, but occasionally someone will want to splash ink on it and try to impregnate the minds of the people.


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 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 blanket could be drenched in water, frozen, and then enjoyed like a giant cotton popsicle by prisoners of a gulag, who might consider this a tasty treat compared to what they normally eat. 


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 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 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.


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 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.