A blanket could be used to confuse and disorient. Think of it not as a bed adornment, but as a really big blindfold. 


A blanket could be used to express my feelings towards her. You see, I’m not tired—but I am tired of her.


A blanket could be used to cover my couch. Nobody should see that I constructed my sofa on the bones of my ancestors.


The thirstiest bird is surely the swallow. My love is so fluid I’ll bet drinking it would give you the gift of flight.

Sleeping in a tinfoil suit keeps me warmer and helps prepare me for my voyage to the moon. Would you care for some licorice?

She asked me if I had a light. I asked her if she was a wizard. She said no, so I felt safe in pulling out my pocket dragon.

A brick could be used to simulate a war opponent. Especially if your nemesis is paraplegic and without transportation.


A brick could be used to represent a memory. That way when you live in a brick house, you could be living in the past.


A brick could be crushed into powder, like cocaine, and snorted to stimulate the previous highs of the housing market.


Teamwork is me helping you build a brick wall that will come between us and forever divide us. Division through unity.


To fly is to swim in the air, and a brick could be used as an as example to highlight man’s failure to fishbird.


A brick could be used to make love better. Faster isn’t always better. Don’t you want to make love better?


I sell Jarod-shaped earplugs that just may plug up the hole in your heart. My earplugs are modeled after a nude Helen Keller.

A brick could be modified to be a cell phone, for construction workers who miss the easy to find cell phone size of the 1980s.

I need a bone saw—for the meatloaf I made for you, which looks suspiciously like a brick. The gravy is a blanket.