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.


A blanket could be used to lure politicians to your side of an issue. Which is your side? Easy—the side I’m not sleeping on.


A blanket could be used to express my condolences. I’m sorry to have to tell you I’m sorry, but that’s life, you know?


A blanket could be used to warn your enemy that you are coming—and that you are warm. Where’s the cold war when you need it?


A brick could be used to sell tickets to a new sport called Glurping. If you think it sounds disgusting now, wait until you see it live!


A blanket could be used to cover up Jude McNude. But despite his last name, he isn’t nude, merely cold. No, I’m the naked one.


A blanket could be used to attract a potential mate. I’ve already got my mate. I bought her in a mannequin store (she was on sale). 


A brick could be used for pressing grapes into wine, and a magician could then cover up that wine with a blanket and turn wine into water.


A brick could be used as a Red Beard Replacement, for those of us who can’t grow facial hair, but desire the respect a beard brings.


A blanket could be used to aid a waiter with bringing out a large order of beer. Those customers can drape themselves in soggy drunkenness.


A blanket could be used to feed the homeless. I mean warm the coldless. I mean coldsome. I wouldn’t know, because I’m homefull.


A brick could help get your unruly hair under control, by getting at the root of the problem—your skull. Increase force as necessary.


A blanket could be used to sell your winningest product to your loserest customer. Oh, loserest is a word. I know, because I just wrote it.


A brick could be thrown, like a football, only instead of a wide receiver, I’d recommend sending out a politician to catch your pass.


A brick can’t cure cancer. But who knows, maybe a brick combined with a blanket could. I’ll have to ask Dr. Burzynski about it.