A brick could be used as an AFD, or Atmospheric Floating Device, whose sole function is to make people ask WTF?


A brick could be used instead of a red light. They’re both red, and I’d run both with equal fervor.


A brick could be used to block out the pain, if you use it to first inflict pain and carry it through to coma. 


I eat toast and ice—because bread and water just aren’t enough for me. I’m also an insatiable lover.

A blanket might make the ideal politician, because they’re warm, comforting, soft, and easily corruptible.


A brick could be used as a fashion accessory. Or an accessory to murder. I believe the phrase is, "If looks could kill.

A blanket could be used to reduce the weight of love, by exactly one person. It’s a cold world out there. 


A blanket could be used to line the walls of the Love Chamber, to soundproof it so that nobody hears you scream.


A brick could be used to back the dollar. Hey, it’s better than the dollar being backed by nothing, right?


She asked if I found what she was telling me very exciting, and I managed to yelp out “very” while yawning.

If you make a nickel a second, you can’t afford to pick up a penny off the ground. It’s the same with love.

I make love like Brett Favre threw his first pass as a Green Bay Packer—to himself. Obviously, himself is myself.

I invented a Love Machine. You should buy two, one as a backup—or to run both simultaneously while you masturbate.

A brick is something solid, stable, and yet edgy. In other words, it’s everything a politician isn’t.


Love knows no boundaries. I wish I would have known that before I hired a cartographer to map out my romantic territory.