A blanket could be used as a tarp over one of those tiny circular inflatable pools for children. Well, you might call it a tarp, but I’d call it a trap. But I’ve already tried everything I can think of to silence the noisy neighbor kids, from mousetraps on lollipop sticks, to superglue disguised as lip gloss—and yet the shrieking continues.
A blanket could be used like Lenny McDenny says hello. He never says hi, because he only says goodbye. He’s always leaving and never arriving. I’m like that too, except I’m always arriving and never leaving. I also eat all the food in your fridge, and never leave when you ask me to. Why would I leave? Good food, good friends, and good food.
A brick could be used to help you get used to the fact that you’ve been used. I’ve been used to, so I know what you’re going through. You’re going through a dark tunnel, and just when you think it can’t get any darker, trust me, you’ll see a light. That’s an oncoming train, so I’d see how fast you can reverse course.
A brick could be used in the same manner as a magician’s hat could be used as a basketball. I’m not suggesting a brick replace a basketball, because that’d be silly. But not as silly as the idea of paying people millions of dollars to put a rubber ball in a rim, while engineers, inventors, teachers, you know, productive people, limp along financially.
Writers,” Esther said simply. “For some reason, a lot of you reject what you hear and see in your heads. If you go too long ignoring it, it builds up and then you do all sorts of weird things. Mumble to yourself. Nightmares. Daydreams. Total anarchy and chaos. Before you know it, the writer is either sitting in a corner feverishly humming to his- or herself or on Prozac.
A brick is what the aliens gave me to communicate with them. It’s easy to operate. Just go to a party, or any crowded location, place the brick on your head, and stand perfectly still until they open up lines of communication. If you talk to Egbok Wangor, tell him I want the twenty bucks he owes me—and I’ll even give you a twenty percent collector’s fee.
We are all a little weird. And we like to think that there is always someone weirder. I mean, I am sure some of you are looking at me and thinking, “Well, at least I am not as weird as you,” and I am thinking, “Well, at least I am not as weird as the people in the loony bin,” and the people in the loony bin are thinking, “Well, at least I am an orange”.
Somewhere there are gardens where peacocks sing like nightingales, somewhere there are caravans of separated lovers traveling to meet each other; there are ruby fires on distant mountains, and blue comets that come in spring like sapphires in the black sky. If this is not so, meet me in the shameful yard, and we will plant a gallows tree, and swing like sad pendulums, never once touching.
A blanket could be used to keep me single. Not that I need any help from anybody or anything to stay single. Actually, to stay single, I need the full cooperation of the entire female population, which is kind of impressive, because in conclusively and inclusively agreeing not to date me, it's like the first time in human history a collective has ever fully agreed on something.
A brick and a blanket can be used as reasons to go on searching, when you’ve found all the obvious applications for the brick and the blanket—and immediately discarded them—but you lost the motivation to keep thinking, and you’ve lost hope that you will discover any new uses for them. Thus the brick and the blanket become symbols for creativity and perseverance.
Bricks could be used to make a billion dollars. It’s easy! All you need to do is fill up a shopping cart full of bricks, park it outside of a grocery store, and wait for the coming hyperinflation. Then, when some soccer mom walks by with a shopping cart full of cash, to purchase a loaf of bread, you trade your tangible assets for her imaginary money and boom! you are now a billionaire.
The Aunts put their arms about one another so that their faces were cheek to cheek, and from this doublehead they gazed up at Steerpike with a row of four equidistant eyes. There was no reason why there should not have been forty, or four hundred of them. It so happened that only four had been removed from a dead and endless frieze whose inexhaustible and repetitive theme was forever, eyes, eyes, eyes.
A blanket could be used as a water purification device. Place it between a flowing water source and your storage barrel and let the blanket filter out impurities. Then after your water is pure, drop a brick in the barrel, and let the water molecules take on a brick-like structure. Drinking this water is a great way to build up your body’s defenses—especially from invading Mongol hordes from the north.
Honestly, I'd rather be anywhere else. Even home, where my dad begins almost every conversation with, "You should lose the black clothes and wear something with color." Puh-lease. Like I want to look like every Barbie clone in Hell High, a.k.a. Oklahoma's insignificant Haloway High School. Ironically, Dad doesn't appreciate the bright blue streaks in my originally blond/now-dyed-black hair. Go figure. That's color, right?
A brick could be used as a doorstop. But that’s obvious. What isn’t obvious is why somebody would want to stop a door, since doors represent openness. What is that person hiding behind that door that they want to stop people from opening it up? I don’t know, but it’s got to be diabolical, and if anything is to be stopped, it’s not the door—it’s the evil plan by the Door Master to take over the world.
