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, ...
A brick could be used as a stand in for a liar’s face. Go on, punch that liar in his face.
A brick could be used as bait for the vampire shark. Since nobody’s ever seen a vampire shark, let alone caught one, I think it would be unreasonable to dismiss the idea entirely.
A blanket could be used to communicate with dolphins. Be quiet! I’m trying to talk to the swimming mammals.
Bricks could be used to feed the homeless. But why not use those bricks to build the homeless people homes? Oh yeah, because that’s not the sort of smart decision DC makes.
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 blanket could be twirled in the air, like a new idea in your mind, and then either discarded or folded up like a wearable memory.
A blanket could be used to reveal hidden mysteries. Quick, get naked and get under, and I will illuminate the night.
A brick could be used to knock out the tooth of a giant, and then used as a replacement for that very tooth it knocked out. I’ll tell you what, you knock it out, and I’ll put the new one back in—and I’ll charge a fee for both transactions.
A brick could be duct taped in front of your eyes, like a blindfold, so you can have that feeling of hitting your head against a brick wall all the time.
A brick could be used as a scapegoat. But don’t blame the brick. The brick didn’t kill my mother-in-law. It was merely the instrument I utilized in showing her how much I loved her.
A brick could be dropped in a toilet to replicate the sound of shitting bricks. But we wouldn’t have to go through all that trouble if you’d just eat the bricks I put on your plate.
A brick could be used as a dream stimulator. Just tap it gently against your forehead. And if the mechanism gets stuck, just slam it down on your skull to jar everything loose.
A brick could be used to wash your hands. And after that, I’d suggest you wash out your filthy mouth. Scrub it clean, you scatological talker you.
A blanket could be used to keep your body warm. After all, your body starts cooling off rapidly once you die. But don’t worry, I’ll bury you someplace quiet, someplace sacred, someplace so secret the cops will never think to look there.
A blanket could be used to save your marriage. But to be honest, I’d recommend saving your marriage in a Tupperware container. That way it’ll stay fresher for longer.
A brick could be used as a flashlight. What, still dark? Check the batteries, because they may be dead.
A brick can be neither good nor bad. A brick just is. And it isn’t, because I just stole it from you, which is good for me, and bad for you.
A brick could be used as a substitute for the steak my mother-in-law just cooked me. And I asked for medium rare. I wonder what well done would taste and chew like.
A brick could be used as a status symbol, much like a Mercedes is now. The cool thing about a brick is not only would it have zero emissions, but it would also have a top speed greater than that of most American cars.
A blanket could be used to wipe away my tears. But it’d better be a blanket the size of America, because I’ve been crying since Andrew Jackson died.
