The Brick Hater

Arthur had an irrational hate for anything made using ancient adobe architecture.
Mud, clay, water, and straw were a recipe for rage in Arthur’s brain, and he’d been arrested many times for smashing at ruddy brown walls with a hammer or smashing bulldozers into them.
His mother sighed and said Arthur’s older brother had covered him with mud and straw, then left him in the sun to bake and harden.
“At least it wasn’t cake,” said the doctor.
“Who the fuck makes houses out of cake?” Arthur’s mother replied.
The doctor stroked his beard and grunted. “I wish I knew.”