A brick could be used to silence your critics. Think of it like a really thick and unchewy piece of chewing gum. 


Brick could be the codename for Rick B. But why the need for secrecy? If I told you I’d have to blanket you.


A blanket could be used to spot the blind. I’d spot Helen Keller nine points in a ten-point basketball game.


I make love like a brick could be used as toilet paper. Sure, it’s rough, but I thought you liked that shit.


A blanket could be used to communicate with dolphins. Be quiet! I’m trying to talk to the swimming mammals. 


33 old people went into a nursing home, and only 34 people came out alive. One old woman died while giving birth to twins.

There’s truth and honor in a mustache. And that’s why I started flying one on the flagpole outside of my house.

A blanket could be used as a warm topping on a hamburger, sort of like processed cheese, only tastier and healthier.


A brick could be used to smash my bottled up rage, and a blanket could be laid down beforehand to catch the shards. 


A brick can be used to represent a ruin, or the beginning of new construction. With a brick, the past is the future.


A blanket could be used to reveal hidden mysteries. Quick, get naked and get under, and I will illuminate the night.


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.


Somebody left a pair of baby shoes on a bench. I would have taken them home, if only they weren’t too big for my feet.

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