A blanket could be used to suppress yawns. Just curl up in the technological wonder that is a blanket, lay your head back, and let the miracle of science cure your yawns.
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 mou...
A brick could be used as the perfect response in one particular situation. Next time someone says, “I love you,” say nothing. Just grab a brick, cradle it with both hands like a kitten, and hold it out to the other person. Whether you want the ot...
A brick could be fired out of a cannon, in an attempt to bring down a brick wall, just as index fingers could be severed and flicked at politicians, to try to correctly redirect blame.
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 wrapped in plastic and sold individually to toddlers as toys. (Warning: Bricks can be harmful if swallowed. If ingested, please contact a physician first, and then the manager of a circus.)
A brick could be substituted in for Rhode Island as a US state, because they’re roughly the same size, the have the same population (the brick may have one less person), and Grandma Kintz makes the best Excuse Soup in the entire state.
A brick could be substituted in for Kansas as a US state, because they’re roughly the same shape, they have the same topography, and I just found Topeka without the aid of a microscope.
A brick could be used to build a color theory that red objects encapsulate rage. Don’t believe me? Think of all the red objects that inspire hate: stop lights, Nazi swastikas, and tomato juice.
A brick and a blanket represent two lovers who can never be together. I simply forbid it!
One brick could be used to do the work of two men, if both men are dead. In this case, a blanket could be used to cover up their decomposing corpses.
A brick could be hidden in the dirt, for future archaeologists to dig up and declare, “Wow! This was one advanced society.”
A brick could be attached to a parachute and tossed out of an airplane, to test if it opens up properly. Well, the good news is the parachute worked as planned, but the bad news is the only other parachute on board is strapped to my back, and I’m a...
One blanket, coupled with a fluffy pillow, could be implemented as a torture device for insomniacs.
A brick on a stick could be licked like a lollipop.
A brick could be put on the end of a scale, to determine if the other end of the scale holds a lie or the truth. (Hint: The truth is much heavier than a brick.)
One brick is not a wall. Unless you’re an ant, and then it’s not only a wall, it’s a building—a building that has no doors, windows, or people in the form of managers that I’d like to smash in the face with a building (or a brick).
A brick could be used as a brick. Clever, right?
A blanket could be used at the end of meetings, to wrap things up—sort of like a big office burrito of productivity.
A brick could be placed in an empty circular room, so that when you tell a dunce to go stand in the corner, he won’t feel so stupid and will know where to go.
A pastor, a politician, and a brick walk into a bar, and the bartender says, “Sorry, we don’t serve rigid nonthinkers here.” So the brick and the pastor look at the politician, who turns around and leaves.
