A brick could be used to divide two people, and then conquer both of them.


There may be a sucker born every minute, but every 30 seconds a lollipop pops out.

I am the Magic Chicken of Desire. Just add water. And a brick and a blanket.


A brick could be used to satisfy your hunger—and satisfy my curiosity.


A brick could be translated into Spanish, and then used to landscape a lawn.


A brick could be locked in a safe, because nobody will try to steal it there.


A blanket really makes the bed. Good thing too, because I never make the bed.


A brick could be used to soften resistance. Smash the opposition into a pulp!


I’d rather have nobody to say anything to, than have nothing to say to anybody.

A brick could be pet, like a dog, and taught to shit in my neighbor's yard.


Sleep with family is a napkin (nap plus kin), and I used a napkin as a blanket.


A brick could be used like sandpaper, to smooth out a cat’s rough tongue.


A blanket could be used to stop a war, particularly if that war is a Cold War. 


A brick is slow, when it’s lying on the floor. But fast when just thrown.


A blanket could be used to what the hell your way out of your neighbor’s bedroom.