A brick could be used to enslave humanity. No wait, a brick can’t do that—but the Masons can.


A brick could be used as a paperweight, for people whose writing isn’t as dense or weighty as mine.


A brick could be affixed to each end of an axle, for an example of transportation in a pre-wheel society. 


A brick could be used to illustrate your innocence. I can help you with that, because I brought a crayon. 


A brick could be used as one ingredient on the greedy Cake of Love. Other ingredients include: Everything.


If my semen had chunks of crumbled brick in it, would you use yogurt to try to impregnate your fireplace? 


A blanket could be used in exciting medical advancements, curing everything from shivers to tonitrophobia.


Knocking on a door is so violent. Talk on the door. Try to get it to open up through communication, not violence.

Kick the blanket, don’t kick the bucket—especially if that bucket is full of death (or bricks).


Had the facial plumage been of a paler hue it would have looked like a pile of horse crap on a winter’s day.

A brick could be used as a basketball. And when you miss a shot, you can always shout, “Brick!”


A brick should decide who gets to rule the people, and I should decide what rules determine whom the brick favors.

A blanket could be used to spread the love around. Tuck it in at the edges, so nobody can hog all the amor.


A brick could be used to bring about a pantsless revolution. A zipper is just a gate holding you back, man.


A brick could be used to cut things. The duller the object, the sharper the user has to be to make it work.