I have a 12:34 representational time dance. I do it at 3:33 every other Tuesday (twice a day). If you’d like to participate in my choreographed dance routine, bring a football helmet and a half empty can of tuna (keeps the stray cats away, because I perform in a gritty, grimy downtown alley).
A brick could be used to instill patience in a pupil. Not a pupil as in part of an iris, but a pupil as in student. Seems a bit silly to try to teach eyes patience, because they enjoy staring at a blank screen every night while their surrounding body is prone to lying prone in bed for eight hours.
A girl’s got to use what she’s given and I’m not going to make a guy drool the way a Britney video does. So I take it to extremes. I don’t say I dress sexily on stage - what I do is so extreme. It’s meant to make guys think: ‘I don’t know if this is sexy or just weird.
A blanket could be used to save your marriage. If only your spouse is invited under your blanket, then each party feels exclusively inclusive to each other. Still, there is a problem. What am I going to do with all the tickets I sold to the internet perverts to spend an evening with you under your blanket?
A blanket could be used to help you remember. You’re probably tempted to ask, “Remember what?” And that’s precisely my point—you can’t even remember what you can’t remember, and I’m here with a blanket to help. So scoot over and let me lay in your bed with you.
The word “Building” makes a completed structure seem under construction. Once a building is finished, it should be called a “Built.” Similarly, a brick is complete in and of itself, but it is also a part of the process of building, and a part of the end result, a newly constructed built.
A brick could be used to stop potential terrorist plots. But it sure would be more effective if I could just record every single phone conversation, email, text message, Google search, and Skype video chat from every single person in the country. Trust me, it’s what’s in the best interest of everyone.
I’m surprised there isn’t a jet airplane designed in the shape of a brick. Some people (aeronautical engineers) might say that’s because bricks aren’t aerodynamic. Yeah, right. I’d like to see someone make that claim as they watch a brick flying towards their face at a high velocity.
Bricks could be used to fill Fort Knox. I know, I know. You’re probably thinking, if we fill Fort Knox with bricks, where will we keep all the gold that’s kept there? I still need to get precise measurements, and move all my clothes, but I think it’d be a good idea to store the gold in my closet.
A brick could be used to determine whether you are really in love or not. But you’re never going to be able to tell for sure if you try to run the experiment with the brick upside down. Keep flipping the brick over until the desired outcome is reached, and then you’ll know for certain the test is valid.
A brick could be used as a symbol for the kind of life I’m trying to build. The question now is, what kind of life am I trying to build? Well, I guess I want stability, longevity, and I’d like it two stories, with the second story being fiction, or even pseudo nonfiction, if that makes sense in its nonsensicality.
A brick could be used to keep thieves away from your house. Just set a brick outside your front door, and you won’t need any additional security. Years will go by and nobody will steal the brick. And because the brick won’t get stolen, it’s proof that it deterred thieves from approaching your property.
The most interesting people are the unusual. No one writes about or discusses the average, the ordinary, or the common; they write about and discuss the weird, the mad and the different, so if you are one, even though the opinions of others are of no importance, you are, in their eyes, significant enough to notice and remember.
A brick could be used to test my new levitation machine. Still, I’d rather test the machine out by seeing if it can lift my heavy, elephantine penis off the floor. But before I turn the machine on, I’m going to ask you to stand at least ten feet back, because I wouldn’t want to accidentally impregnate you.
A brick is like fruitcake. You don’t want to use it up all at once, and in fact, you don’t want to use it up at all. Well, if you won’t use it, then give it to someone who will. Every other Christmas I get the gift of fruitcake—and I think it’s the same loaf that I gave to that person the year before.
