I wish my nipples spiraled around and could play records. I could spin love songs while you made love to me like you were a DJ.

A brick could be used to stop a murder. Just wedge it in front of the door of the murderer, and enclose him in his room.


A brick could be used to assuage your sense that life isn't real. Hold it in your hands and say, This is not a dream.


The waves were choppy, like Chuck Norris' karate hands. The ocean would have been still, if I weren't making love in it.

I managed to beat Michael Phelps’ 400 meter IM time. And not only did I beat his time, but I did it in exactly 200 meters.

The best part about falling in love with a slab of meatloaf is now I get to use my ketchup-dispensing backpack when making love.

I water fake plants, because I’m growing a garden of fake mustaches. Lest no man (or woman) question my ability as a lover.

My armpits are not only rank, but they’re ranked number one in customer satisfaction. Try them for free or your money back.

A brick could be used to locate the precise coordinates of the Masons. Just follow the bricks—and follow the money. 


A brick could be used as a Disappointment Cube. Here, I’m giving mine to you, because you really bummed me out, man.


A blanket could be used at the end of meetings, to wrap things up—sort of like a big office burrito of productivity.


A brick could be used to help the needy. Giving a brick as a gift is a symbol showing you want to help build their future.


A brick can and should be used as a telephone, because that way I won’t feel so bummed out that she never calls me. 


I’ll carry Carrie like my hands are full of empty. But at least my heart is full. But not with love—with cholesterol.

If loving someone is putting them in a straitjacket and kicking them down a flight of stairs, then yes, I have loved a few people.