A brick could be used to tell the time. If you can see it it’s daytime, and if you can’t see it it’s nighttime. 


A blanket could be twirled in the air, like a new idea in your mind, and then either discarded or folded up like a wearable memory.


A brick could be used to make life easier. Start carrying one around with you everywhere you go, and you’ll see what I mean. 


A brick could be used to describe somebody hard and inflexible, and a blanket could be used to describe somebody warm and easygoing.


A brick is what I’m voting for for President. And guess what? If you’re voting for a Republican or Democrat, so are you.


A brick and a blanket are going to help me conquer the world. Just give me an army at my disposal, and you’ll see what I mean.


The clouds blanketed the city, and the rain sounded like bricks hitting the roof. I hope my cat’s not still sleeping up there.


A brick could be used to aid the lonely. Carry it with you, converse with it, and if you drink enough, you can even make love to it.


A blanket could be used to understand Understanding. At least I think so. The process is complicated, and really hard to understand. 


A brick could be used as a door handle. On an all-brick house this would be great, but on an all-brick car it’d be even better.


If you come by my place, you might see a wheelbarrow full of broken bricks. I broke them with my fist. I was practicing for your face.


You could carve out the inside of a brick and hide your money in it for safe keeping. It’s certainly safer than keeping it in the bank!

My routine is comforting, like a comforter. But a blanket could easily be used to replace my routine, because a comforter is a blanket.


A brick could be used as toilet paper—especially if you just shit a brick. You could shit and wipe your way to a wall of privacy.


A brick could be used to tell how hard the wind is blowing. If the wind blows the brick around, I’d get out of there immediately.