A brick could be used as bait for the vampire shark. Since nobody’s ever seen a vampire shark, let alone caught one, I think it would be unreasonable to dismiss the idea entirely.


Your deceit smells like a fake mustache. Nobody stole my facial hair. I shaved this morning and donated half of it to the Humane Society. The other half I kept for sentimental petting reasons.

A brick represents my rationality, and a blanket represents my emotions. It’s robot versus mannequin, and to get a sense of who I am as a person, you need some mortar and a pillow.


A brick could be used to crush grapes. If that sounds unnecessarily cruel, then I guess you wouldn’t like to pour you a glass of wine. It’s a shame, because I made it myself. 


A blanket could be used to stop terrorism. Unless that terrorist has a small knife, or really sharp teeth, and is able to chew through the cloth separating him from our American freedom. 


Bricks could be used to pad the pockets of crooked politicians. Why stuff their greedy pockets with cash, when we could load them up with bricks and find out how good of swimmers they are?


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 could be used to decorate a house. And not just one brick, thousands could be stacked and affixed together and really make your house not only feel like a home, but less drafty too.


A blanket could be used to sail with the wind. That wind is provided by my ceiling fan, and my boat is my bed. Why don’t you come over, and I’ll teach you the art of seafaring. 


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 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 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'm offering you love on a stick. If you'd like, you can grab it to go. It’s like a popsicle, only it won’t melt if you put it through hell like you did with you last boyfriend.

All the Debbies in the world are too big to be little. Makes me wish I were just two inches taller, you know? I blame my dad—or the mailman. Not sure yet. I get the DNA results back tomorrow.

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.