“A brick could be renamed something clever and cute, like President, and repackaged and resold to a solid base of sheep consumers every four years. The sheeple will never even notice that every new model of brick is exactly like the last brick!
”

“A brick could be used as a brick. Clever, right?
”

“A brick could be used as an identifier, for all those people with no real identities. I’m talking about clones, because just like bricks, each clone is exactly like the next. 
”

“A brick could be used to commit genocide on a small patch of grass, if you lay the brick down on the lawn and leave it there long enough. But I do not condone this monstrosity of lawntrocity. (Lawn + atrocity—clever, no? OK, no, it’s not so clever. To have any lawngevity as a writer, I’ve got to avoid making clunky, brick-like puns.)
”

“But I'm not saying anything because I've just noticed the brick. Or rather the lack of brick. Of course, some of the dark shapes on the floor probably are bricks, but they don't look like my brick. The one that can be up against the door. But isn't.”

“Brick and Blanket could be the names of two characters in a screenplay full of witty dialogue like:
Brick: Hello!
Blanket: Hi!
Brick: How are you?
Blanket: Good. You?
Brick: Good.”