I am the burrito wrapped up in a blanket. Eat my warmth.
I’ve got you covered. Just don’t hog all the blanket.
Four bricks could be affixed under a skateboard and used as really inefficient wheels. Ha! Let’s see Tony Hawk do tricks on that board. Actually, he probably could.
A blanket could be used to fill in the blank.
A blanket could be used as a cover of your favorite song by your favorite cover band.
Let my hand be a blanket for my penis.
A brick could be used as a floatation device. But only use it if the person drowning is a politician.
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 blanket could be used to sell two-legged tables to one-legged men. This very same blanket could also teach them some Latin—specifically the phrase “Caveat Emptor.”
A brick could be used to illustrate the seriousness of the situation. You’ll know I’m not playing when I display a brick. Shit’s getting real up in here, motherfucker.
A blanket could be used to cure the common cold. I mean, come on it’s just common sense. A blanket is warm, and if a cold is what it’s named, then a blanket would transform a cold into some nameless nonentity. Take that, Louis Pasteur.
A brick could be used as a cuddle partner. Just glue some fur on it and voila! It’s as good as snuggling with any dead animal you find on the side of the highway. (Which is getting rarer to find in this depression where everyone’s going hungry.)�...
A brick could be used as brain filler for the political mind, just in case one of our elected officials needs a brain transplant to try to boost their intellectual capabilities.
A brick could be used to represent society as a whole. But to represent society as a half, I’d recommend using either a full carton of half and half, or a half-full carton of whole milk.
A brick could be used to divide two people, and then conquer both of them.
A brick could be used to prop open the door to my heart. But you might not want to leave the Love Door open, because my ex just shit all in there.
A brick could be used to squiggle your signature with. And while you’re in the autographing mood, why don’t you sign your name at the bottom of the lunch bill.
A blanket could be used in a secretive manner. What? I can’t just tell you how it could be used. What part of secretive don’t you understand?
A brick could be used as a substitute for my father. I hate to admit it, but I think a brick would make a better dad than that guy I call “The Guy That Never Calls Me.”
A brick could be used to show how patient you are. Somewhere between one brick and a million bricks lies a home. For me, my home is one brick, and I carry it with me wherever I go, because I’m always on the move. Maybe one day, when I’m a wealthy...
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 rub...
