Welcome to a Super special edition of Always Be Covering. It's that time. It's the Super Bowl...
She looks tasty.
Fuck.
I really wish this day had never come.
There's no doubt that it's a day to be celebrated, but it also reminds us of what we'll be missing.
No, I'm not talking about the Super Bowl. I'm obviously talking about the debut of Prescription Vending Machines in the state of California.
And you thought ATM muggings were a problem...
Holy crap, this is brilliant. Now I'm not saying that I partake in the whole marijuana thing, but as a Libertarian I am quite pleased. Sure these marijuana dispensers require a prepaid card linked to a doctor's prescription along with a fingerprint identification, but migraines seem pretty common these days. But why are they so far away?
Anyways, let's get on to the bet of the year...
The Big Game Teaser
Both lines teased 6 points. Odds: 10/11
I don't really feel like going back into the archives to see how many teasers I've lost this year, but I trust one of you fuckwads will take up the task yourselves. Yeah, teasers are crappy bets and I still don't fucking care.
Am I some sort of expert gambler? No.
Have I won any money this season? Probably not.
Do I sound like David Lookner? Absolutely!
Alright, fuck it all. Here's the bet...
New England -5.5 vs. New York Total Score Over 48.5
Yep, it's that easy. Enjoy the game everybody. Oh, and don't bother with work on Monday. That's for the womenfolk.
So help me God, the first person who comments to tell me I got the line wrong will have the corpse of their most recently deceased relative violated in a most unseemly manor.
The celebrity Super Bowl pick is a time-honored tradition, one we at KSK are super fucking excited to be a part of, as we have in the past. For the next two weeks, stars from the world of entertainment, politics, and more will drop by to make their picks for the big game in the Pink Taco! Up next, Inmate #34590874598 in the Federal penal system, Michael Vick!
Vick: Oh, man.
Oh, Lord.
Holy shit.
This jenkem, this is the strongest shit I’ve ever done. And when I say “shit”, I mean it literally! How’s that next batch cookin’ up, Pookie?
Pookie: It’s goin’ good!!!!
Vick: I gotta pick this Super Bowl game and shit. Who do I pick, Pookie?
Pookie: I dunno, MV7. You gotta write that shit down and give it to Loop down the hall. He’ll set you up.
Vick: Shit. I guess I’ll pick the Giants. How do you spell Giants, Pookie?
Pookie: G-I-A…
Vick: Whoa whoa whoa. Hold up. Slow down. Go back to the beginnin’. How do you spell G?
Pookie: Uh…
Vick: (crumples up the paper) Man, fuck this shit. Let me get my nose in some more of that doodoo.
I am fucking STONED like Betty Ford. Holy shit. I feel so relaxed. I feel like just sinking down and letting the air wash over me. So nice. So very, very nice. Where’s that picture of Rihanna I keep in my pocket?
Oh, girl. There you is. Did you miss me? I missed you, too. Say something to me, baby. I can keep a secret.
(unzips pants)
You miss this? You miss MV7’s MX missile? They don’t call it the peacemaker for nothin’, baby. You’re gonna need that umbrella ella ella of yours. ‘Cause it’s about to rain little Vickpoles!
(starts furiously masturbating)
Oh, God. Oh God, girl. I am gonna come so fucking hard…
Judge: MR. VICK!
Vick: Oh snap! It’s Inspector Todd haunting my dreams again!
Judge: Mr. Vick, you are in my courtroom! Pull your pants back up and stand before me!
Vick: Oh shit! Goddamn, Mister Wapner Man, you scared the shit outta me. What the fuck? Where’s the Doug Llewelyn guy? That guy’s got some big hair and shit. Ha ha! Fucking WASPfro!
Judge: Mr. Vick, in light of your incredibly inappropriate conduct, and the fact that you have shown no genuine remorse over what you did, I see no choice but to sentence you to 23 months in Federal prison.
Vick: 23 MONTHS?! Whoa whoa whoa. That’s like… half a year! What the fuck, man?!
Judge: It’s two years, Mr. Vick. Plenty of time for you to stare at that picture.
Vick: Hold up, yo. Hold the fuck up. Two years? BUT I’M STONED! Don’t you get it? This is the fucking Elder Bud, man. I ain’t ever comin’ down! Why not give me two days? That's just like two years in Weed Standard Time! Or can’t I just play some dice there for an afternoon or something? Or what if I taught prisoners how to read? How hard can that be? All I have to do is learn to read!
Judge: Get out of my courtroom, Mr. Vick.
Vick: Wait! You can’t do this to me! No one’s given me the recipe for butthash yet! C’mon, Mister Wapner Man! I thought we were boys and shit! THIS IS SOME BULLSHIT! I was framed! Roddy White did it!
(Vick is escorted out)
YOU CAN’T DO THIS SHIT TO ME! HOW THE FUCK WILL I LIVE IN PRISON? I NEED MY ROCK GARDEN! Whoa whoa whoa, look! It’s a TV! Hey, that’s Mr. Home Depot Man!
Blank: If Michael eats lots of fried chicken and fries while in prison and comes out 290 lbs…
Vick: What the fuck did he just say? Did Mister Home Depot Man just say what I think he said?
They got fried chicken in prison?
And fries?
Holy shit.
HOLY FUCKING SHIT, THAT IS AWESOME!
I didn't know that. All I saw at the buffet last week was chicken Kiev! God, I’m so fucking stoned right now. I would fucking kill for some fried chicken. Do they marinate it in buttermilk overnight? Oh my God. So crispy. So crunchy. So tender. Sometimes, there’s that little fried bit on the end of the thigh that is just… FUCK! And fries? Like shoestrings? None of that thickass steak fry shit? Fuck me, that sounds good. You’re telling me I can eat that for two years and only weigh 290?
This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Get my ass back to jail!
(phone buzzes)
Who the fuck is this? A text message?
FROM B. PETRINO: GOIN 2 ARKANSAS. L8R G8R!
Fuckin’ spam texts. Rihanna, you and me are eatin' good tonight!
Let's make one thing clear up front, I'm not saying I get stoned to the bejeezus belt, flunked a drug test and then bamboozled the commissioner into not suspending me. But IF I wanted to, it would have been pretty easy to do. Just follow these three easy steps.
Clean hair sample for testing? Wait until the Cutler kid gets out of the shower and fish some pubes out of the drain. This is much less confrontational than my previous method of hiding his pants and then ripping out a handful in the locker room.
You want to know how to pass a polygraph? Easy, just inseminate nine different women. Believe me, when you have knocked up as many honeys as I have you become a master in the art of deception real fast. I'm a lying fucking ninja. “The child support check is in the mail.” “I'll make it to your birthday party.” “Baby, I have no why that dude is trying to serve me with papers.” “Sure I remember your name, uh, kid.” “I'm gonna have a vasectomy in the off-season.” And so forth.
Last step, come up with some bullshit story about being exposed to some second-hand weedsmoke. But careful not to make Goodell think you hang with the wrong crowd. "I swear commissioner, I was walking to bible study when some guy who looked a lot like Selvin Young jumped out of the alley and exhaled his blunt right in my face."
"Contact high?" BWAHHAHAHAHA! Yeah, that cherry red Graffix bong with the dragon inlay and three foot extension contacted the shit out of my grill, yo. I like dragons. I wish I could breath fire. I'd be all, what's that Merriman, you trying to stop me? How 'bout I roast your ass like I was Godz-- um...uh, I mean, just say no to drugs, kids.
I ain’t never felt like this before. I’ve never felt so powerless. So helpless. It’s like I have no control over my life anymore.
It’s this fucking WEED, man. I have surrendered to its majesty. Jesus Christ, I am stoned like a Wheat Thin.
(phone rings)
Vick: The fuck? Are you really ringing, Mr. Phone? Or is it just my imaginary telekinesis acting up again? Fuck it. (picks up) Hello?
Lawyer: Michael, it’s your lawyer.
Vick: Oh, hello there, Mr. Perry Mason man. Mr. Can’t-Keep-My-Ass-Outta-Motherfuckin’-Jail Man. Are you enjoying your life of freedom? I bet you’re sitting on a buttery leather couch right now, you fuckin’ fuck.
Lawyer: Michael, I have some bad news for you.
Vick: Oh, really? There’s a goddamn shocker. Well, why the fuck not? Bring it on, shitheel. Let’s see: I already lost my motherfuckin’ job, my motherfuckin’ endorsements, my motherfuckin’ freedom, my motherfuckin’ bookie (and he was a damn good bookie), my motherfuckin’ lifetime contract with Cherry Blistex... What else can you possibly add to this shitheap, Mr. Oldass Matlock Man? What new spiked dildo are you gonna ram up my ass?
Lawyer: Michael, I’m trying to help you.
Vick: Fuck that. I tell ya, at least I still got my money. My precious, precious money. God, I love my money.
Lawyer: Michael…
Vick: Ah, sweet, sweet money. Procurer of weed. Giver of Papa John’s Italian Meats Trio. You can never let me down, money. You don’t judge me. You never look at me funny. (takes out a five dollar bill) Wait a second, Lincoln. You ARE looking at me funny.
Lawyer: Michael, I’m afraid to tell you that the Falcons have won your arbitration hearing.
Vick: You’re seeing an obstetrician? Is that when they punch your dick inside out and make you a lady?
Lawyer: It’s a legal hearing. I’m sorry to tell you that the Falcons have won the right to collect a significant portion of your signing bonus back from you.
Vick: How much?
Lawyer: $19.9 million.
Vick: $19.9 million dollars? So that’s like…
(processing)
(processing)
(processing)
(processing)
Vick: $19.9 million dollars.
(takes several bong hits)
Lawyer: Michael?
Vick: (takes several more bong hits) Hold on. I’m just trying to right the universe.
Lawyer: Michael, we’re appealing.
Vick: The fuck is appealing about this?
Lawyer: In the meantime, we’re feeling some serious heat from the banks on this. I need to know where that money is.
Vick: Where it is? Uh, it’s uh… It’s tied up.
Lawyer: Michael, did you spend it all?
Vick: Well what the fuck am I supposed to do with $19.9 million, you white asshole?! Save it? That’s like being a virgin with a 12-inch cock! Nobody told me those assholes could take it!
Lawyer: It was in your contract.
Vick: Motherfucker, I didn’t read that shit! Did you see how long that thing was? Why the fuck you think I hired your monkey ass?
Lawyer: Well, what did you spend the money on?
Vick: What do you think I spent it on? I spent it on DOG FIGHTING.
Lawyer: Just dog fighting?
Vick: Well, and some other short term, uh, investments and shit. Weed doesn’t just grow out in the woods, you know.
Lawyer: Yes, it does.
Vick: Motherfucker, I have EXPENSES! Okay? I gotta pay for food, and housing, and clothes, and things that look shiny on QVC at 3 in the morning, and those glass rectangle light boxes with colored liquid in them that tilt back and forth. You ever see one of those, man? It’s like a window right into your soul.
Lawyer: Michael, you have to file for bankruptcy.
Vick: Fuck you. You know what, asshole? I pay you $300 an hour, and all you fucking do is call me with bad news. Now, I’m gonna hang this phone up. And I don’t want you calling back until you got something GOOD to tell me. Comprende, shithead?
Lawyer: Michael…
Vick: Goodbye, evil white man. (hangs up) FUCK. Well, you can’t pay someone back in weed. You can’t even repossess it. Fuck you, Falcons. (opens up room filled with $19.9 million worth of weed) You want my money, you’re just gonna have to start smokin’. BITCHES.
Good God, I am fucking stoned like Lara Flynn Boyle after a visit to the abortion clinic. This is nice. Man, I feel like I’m never gonna come down. Ever.
Wait a second. Never come down?
Oh, snap! Shit on a hockey stick! I have found it! I have, at long last, after all these years, found The Elder Bud! I thought it was just a legend and shit! I never thought it actually existed! They say The Elder Bud was planted thousands of years ago by mountain sherpas at the base of the K2. The sherpas had a saying about it. “He Who Smoketh, Beeth Eternally Fucked Upeth.”
Oh, wow.
I’m stoned for fucking life! I could never smoke again and still be fucked up!
I gotta smoke some more.
(takes another hit)
Oh, God. I’m so high. I can barely think in English. Flibba flobba floopa. Dingo mango shakey shakey!
(Jesus appears)
Jesus: Michael.
Vick: Holy fuck! Jesus!
Jesus: Michael, I am here to save you. Are you ready to be saved?
Vick: Oh, Jesus. Jesus, you have no fuckin’ idea how happy I am to see you. Yes, yes I would like to be saved. So, how’s this work? Do you appear in front of my judge and hypnotize him and shit?
Jesus: Michael, I am not here to save you from jail.
Jesus: Michael, I am here to save your soul. You have been corrupted by mortal sin. You have lost faith in me, and you have lost faith in yourself. You must learn kindness, and grace. You must learn that the beauty in life comes from loving others, be they people, or dogs, or any other species.
Vick: (cries) Oh, God. What have I done?
Jesus: I know that this can’t be easy for you.
Vick: No, it’s The Elder Bud. I desperately need Visine. Can you turn some water into saline for me?
Jesus: I cannot do that, Michael. I can only offer you eternal salvation.
Vick: Well, that’s all well and good, Jesus. But what I need right now is some motherfuckin' moisture.
Jesus: Michael, you need to pay heed. You’ve already paid the price for your wrongdoing in this life. You’re going to jail. You’ve lost your job. You’ve lost material wealth. But don’t you see how much more there is to lose? It isn’t too late. You can repent. You must be willing to give yourself to Me. Will you join me, Michael? Will you be saved?
(processes)
(processes)
(processes)
(processes)
Vick: Can we get some Chinese food first or something? I’m sorry, Jesus, but I can’t concentrate on shit until I get some egg foo young up in this bitch.
Jesus: Oh, forget it.
(disappears)
Vick: Hey! Hey Jesus, where’d you go? I thought we could play some DDR and shit! Wow, I found The Elder Bud and Jesus on the same day. That is fucking solid.
(takes bong hit)
This is a gonna be a great year.
Photo courtesy of The Onion.
Thus far, the first annual KsK Kares Charity Drive for Fisher House has raised over $500 for disabled veterans and their families. You can donate directly to FH here.
As you know, Michael Vick will be sentenced to jail today. Whether he understands this or not is still up for debate, as sources tell us Vick has said to close friends on many occasions that, “Monday Night Football is taking it too fucking far with this ‘You’ve Been Sacked!’ halftime shit!” Regardless of his ability to accept the basic tenets of reality, Vick is still going to go away for a good amount of time, based on the plea agreement he negotiated with Federal prosecutors. It’s a damning document, laying bare the fact that Vick was the financier of an entire dogfighting gambling ring, and that he participated in the execution of dogs.
But what you folks out there might not know is just how long it took Vick’s lawyers to craft that document. The Statement of Facts you see there is quite a bit different from its original version, a version that was written almost exclusively by Vick himself. I had the good fortune of stumbling upon it. Here now are its unedited contents.
IN THE UNITED STATES DISTRICT COURT
FOR THE EASTERN DISTRICT OF VIRGINIA
Richmond Division
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA v. MICHAEL VICK a/k/a “Ookie”, a/k/a "Tony Masters", a/k/a "Mickey Relleno", a/k/a "Simba", a/k/a "Dexter St. Jacques", a/k/a "Lord Baron Von Turlington VIII", a/k/a "Fly Johnson", Defendant
CRIMINAL NO. 3:07CR274
SUMMARY OF THE FACTS
If this matter were to proceed to trial, the Government would prove the following facts beyond a reasonable doubt:
1. Beginning in or about early 2001, and continuing through in or about April 2007, in the Eastern District of Virginia and elsewhere, defendant MICHAEL VICK, also known as “Ookie,” got hold of some serious, unreal, fucking make-everything-look-like-a-photo-negative cohiba that rocked his party world like a motherfucking motherfucker. VICK also agrees that:
2. The best Mrs. Fields cookie is the semi-sweet with nuts. If you get that shit without nuts, it ain’t got no motherfuckin’ texture. VICK agrees that he likes textures.
3. VICK knowingly hopes that Kerry Washington noticed the suit he wore to the courthouse the other day. Because that shit was tight.
4. If you inhale and exhale real quick for, like, five minutes, then have a buddy press your hands into your chest, you totally pass out and have all these crazy dreams and shit. It’s a good thing to do if you are out of weed and/or waiting for Carlos to deliver.
5. If you press your hands against a doorway for, like two minutes, then stop, your arms will go up on their own! That’s fucked up.
6. VICK knowingly purchased Beggin’ Strips when he was stoned to the bejeezus one night. And you know what? They were fucking great! They really do taste like bacon.
7. VICK knowingly failed to curb his dogs.
8. But he did not fail to curb-stomp his dogs.
9. Sometimes, if you get stoned and accidentally throw a doodoo pie at your own wall, you can cover that shit up with a really nice tapestry and, like, some Febreze. Febreze is fucking magical.
10. Big Boy can tear a bitch in half.
11. VICK agrees that many of the ideas in his secret journal sounded much better when he was lit up like Mann’s Chinese Theater. These include: the kitebot, the motorized toenail clippers, selling chili in a juice box, the syrup sprinkler, the jawbreaker made of colored stainless steel, the tongue-shaped vibrator, and the pineapple/apple hybrid fruit or “pineappleapple”
12. Matter of fact, why the fuck do they call it pineapple to begin with? Ain’t no apples in that shit! And it doesn’t come from a pine tree! The fuck?
13. Dude, the “The Simpsons” totally stole VICK’s fucking idea for a dog fur texedo.
14. VICK agrees that Mr. Home Depot Man should, like, pay his legal bills and shit.
15. VICK knowingly and unlawfully snuck into his neighbor’s house when he was a kid and poured an entire jar of mayonnaise into the radiator, just to fuck with him.
16. VICK did not kill any dogs.
17. Okay, maybe, like one. But that bitch had grown so ugly, it was really like doin’ her a favor.
18. Okay, maybe VICK gave another pooch or two the Atomic Drop. But you know what, Mr. Prosecutor Man? I don’t see you raising much of a fuss when you have, like, steak for dinner and shit. VICK saw “Faces of Death”, man. Those cows get their throats fuckin’ slit, man. And they don’t even get to have fun while they’re alive! VICK gave those dogs a taste of athletic glory, bitch! Those dogs were gladiators. Legends. I got a plaque of Priscilla on my wall and everything! She didn’t die! She lives forever! She was a champion! Until she started losing. Then VICK held her down and sawed her head off with a penknife. But what choice did VICK have? You ever try and tell a dog to retire?! They don't fucking listen, man! And it ain't like that bitch didn't LIKE to fight. She wanted to do it! VICK didn't "fight" dogs, per se. He simply released them to go and fight. They was just doin' what they do! That's, like, natural selection and shit! Fuck.
19. Remember in “Faces of Death” where they behead that Arab guy? That was awesome. They say that shit was staged, but VICK knows real blood when he sees it.
20. VICK is still stoned. And he smoked up, like, fourteen hours ago. This is like enduroshit. It’s chronic chronic! It’s the everlasting gobstopper, bitches! Go ahead and take my ass to jail, Mr. Prosecutor man. ‘Cause this shit’ll last my whole term. No bars can hold my high down! MV7, HIGH FOR LIFE YOU WHORES
Photo courtesy of The Onion
CORRECTION: Vick will NOT be sentenced today. He will be sentenced on December 10. Wait a second, December fucking 10th?! Christ, that's eons away. Rocket docket, my ass. Show a little hustle, District Court. I want my celebrity justice NOW!
I am stoned like Betty fucking Crocker. I can’t believe how fucking stoned I am. Check it out! Tree bark is growing on my legs! That is fucking trippy, man.
(phone rings)
WHO’S THAT?
(phone rings)
Quit scaring me like that, Mr. Phone. I don’t sneak up behind you and start making weird fucking noises. Show some goddamn respect.
(phone rings)
Shit.
(picks up phone)
Who dis?
Purnell: Ookie, it’s Peace.
Vick: Oh, Peace! How the fuck you doin’, man? Dude, remember when we put that rabbit in a garbage can and rolled it down a highway exit ramp? That was fucking hilarious.
Purnell: Michael, I’m not doing so hot. Listen man, Quanis and I have decided to negotiate plea deals.
Vick: You’re starting a flea circus? That’s fucking crazy man. I saw a cartoon about that. They were on trapezes and stuff. Really high end, mind-blowing shit. Do fleas fight? That would be bitchin’.
Purnell: No, we pleaded guilty. You know, in the dogfighting case.
Vick: Oh, the dogfighting thing! That shit’s still going on? I smoked up, like, sixty times after that, so I figured that shit was just over and what not. I always think things will work out in the end. You might call me an optimist like that.
Purnell: No, it’s not over. We had to settle with the government.
Vick: Settle? How much did they pay you?
Purnell: No, not that kind of settlement. We got a chance at reduced charges in exchanges for testifying that you were the main financier and organizer of the fights.
Vick: So you get off easier by testifying against me?
(processes)
(processes)
(processes)
(processes)
MUTHAPHUCKKA, I’VE BEEN BETRAYED! YOU SOLD ME OUT, MAN!
Purnell: We didn’t have a choice! We were going to go to jail for years!
Vick: But what about our friendship, man? What about all the good times we had together? Like the time we smoked up and ate that entire package of Hormel pepperoni? Or the time we smoked up and went down to the dock and unhooked all the boats and watched them drift away? Or what about the time we smoked up and I nailed your fiancee? We shared moments, man. Precious memories. And now you’ve gone and doodooed all over them! You and Qyntel!
Purnell: Quanis.
Vick: Whatever.
Purnell: We’re still friends. You know we’re boys, man. No one can take that away from us. But we had to do what we had to do.
Vick: You didn’t have to do anything! Look at me! I do nothing all day! I had to take a shit just now and I didn’t even bother to get up! Now there are fruit flies all over me!
Purnell: This is serious, man. These people mean business. They take this dogfighting shit hard, man.
Vick: But I don’t get it, man! I’m no animal hater! I love dogs. That’s why I like to fight them! I like to admire their inherent dogginess! This is horseshit!
Purnell: Either way man, you have to plea. It’s the only thing to do.
Vick: Fuck that. Nobody can send my ass to jail. No one has my escapability! I’mma beat the rap, then get back to doin’ what I do best: run with the football as a quarterback.
Purnell: But I thought you were suspended.
Vick: (takes bong hit) I was? Man, why am I always the last motherfucker on Earth to know shit?!
Vick: Indicted? Really? Who’s throwing a party? Ookie loves a good party.
Lawyer: No, no, you’ve been indicted., not invited. An indictment is when you are charged with a crime.
Vick: Well, what crime did I do?
Lawyer: Conspiracy to travel in interstate commerce in aid of unlawful activities and to sponsor a dog in an animal fighting venture in U.S. District Court for the Eastern District in Richmond, Va.
Vick: Uh… wha… I was in a commercial?
Lawyer: You’re being charged with dog fighting, Michael.
Vick: Oh, snap! Really? Well, fuck me blind.
Lawyer: This is serious, Michael. It says that Bad Newz Kennels…
Vick: You like that name? I think the Z makes it even fucking nastier.
Lawyer: It’s a very nice name. It says you ran a dog fighting outfit out of Smithfield, VA.
Vick: Well, what’s so bad about that? Know what else they do in Smithfield? Make ham. And I don’t see any charging any farmers out there with pig fighting.
Lawyer: Well, they don't make them fight.
Vick: Well, they should. That would be fucking sweet.
Lawyer: Slaughtering pigs is legal because it’s for commerce.
Vick: But you just said I was being booked for commerce! I made $50,000 off that shit!
Lawyer: It’s just… It’s just not the same.
Vick: (takes bong hit) Well then, that’s fucked up.
Lawyer: It’s says you performed electrocutions. True?
Vick: Hell, yes! I’m the most electrocuting player in the NFL!
Lawyer: And that you drowned them? Hung them? Slammed them to the ground?
Vick: No way, man! I was just being playful. No, wait! That was, like, obedience training and shit. Yeah! I had to drown a bitch or two because they fought TOO MUCH! I prevented them from fighting AGAIN! So, in many ways, I am a hero. How you like that?!
Lawyer: I just... I think you should prepare for the fallout, okay?
Vick: Eh, whatever. Fuck that. (hangs up) I think I better kill the rest of those dogs. I’m tired of these dogs snitching. Priscilla! Come here, girl!
(enter Priscilla)
Vick: Now, you know Ookie loves you, right?
Priscilla: WOOF!
Vick: In fact, he loves you so much, he wants to show you around doggie heaven! You interested?
One of the strangest aspects of the Tuesday indictment of Falcons quarterback Mike Vick is that, in addition to "Ron Mexico," he also is known as "Ookie."
So where does the Ookie come from?
Apparently, it was given to him by his mother. And, apparently, he only lets close friends refer to him by that moniker.
"Man, if they called me Ookie it would really be on," Vick told ESPN.com's Page 2 several years ago. "I would really be upset, because nobody else can call me by my nickname but my mom. Unless I give you permission because you really know me, but none of the guys know me real good so they can't do it. But yeah, that would really get me going."
Back in April, Michael Vick was scheduled to lobby Congress on Capitol Hill to fund after school programs. Unfortunately, due to a late arrival on a flight from Tampa, he missed his 8:35PM connecting flight in Atlanta, and then was a no-show for the 10:50PM flight he was subsequently booked on. Here now is what transpired between those two times to cause Vick to his miss his connection.
8:35PM Oh, man.
Oh, man.
Oh, SHIT.
I am fucking stoned.
(gets off plane)
I mean, holy shit. I feel like a neon light. Somebody get hold of me, because I can pretty much feel all my blood vessels pulsing right now. I can’t tell if I like it or not.
Man, Getting stoned before getting on that plane was a motherfuckin’ mistake, man. Fucking pilot said that flight would be 45 fucking minutes. That wasn’t no 45 minutes, okay? That was 8 days. That’s a long time to be in the fucking air, man.
I think my contacts are stuck to my eyes. FUCK. Now I gotta get on another flight? Shit. I can’t take this shit. I better smoke up.
8:50PM (walks into bathroom stall, smokes up)
Hooo!!!!! That feels… NICE. I’m gonna shit, just to complete to the doubleheader.
8:52PM (plop)
Hooo!!!!! Double NICE!!!!!
9:00PM Why is the toilet paper in this place only one ply? Fucking Scott Tissue. I may as well wipe my ass with an emery board.
What’s with these automatic faucets, man? There’s no water pressure in this shit. Look at this. Takes 5 hours just to rinse the soap off.
9:02PM Air dryers? Fu-uck.
9:10PM Oooh, California Pizza Kitchen!!!!!! MV7 is eating like a fucking kang tonight! Shrimp scampi pizza? That’s fucking crazy. I kinda want the Thai pizza. Or do I want the barbecue chicken pizza?
9:15PM Thai, or barbecue chicken?
9:20PM Thai, or barbecue chicken?
9:25PM Thai, or barbecue chicken?
9:30PM OOOH!!!! BLT Pizza!!!!
9:35PM Thai, or barbecue chicken, or BLT?
9:40PM Fuck it. I’m going to Pizza Hut.
9:50PM Holy shit, this pizza is SOOOOOO good. Man, how come the only channel they got here is the CNN airport channel? I wanna see some fucking bullriding. Damn. Gotta see some bullriding. Let me go check that depressing airport bar where all the smokers have penned themselves in like caged dogs.
9:52PM Well, why CAN’T you put on bullriding? You seriously telling me anyone in this city wants to see a Hawks game? The Hawks can scratch my balls, man. Man, fuck you. I’ll watch bullriding on my iPod.
9:55PM Fucking iPod. You can do everything but recharge yourself.
10:00PM Man, look at all these departing flights. There’s even one going to Sioux City. I didn’t even know people lived in Sioux City. I thought they called it a city as like a joke and shit. Ooooh, Paris! Damn, I’d like to go to Paris. I heard French whores are completely disaffected and will let you do anything. Seattle? Ain’t nothing but pasty fuckers there. Oh, man! MEXICO!!!!!!! I gotta go live in Mexico, man. They have hammocks. Hammocks are solid.
This wall of monitors is mesmerizing. I feel like a citizen of the world. There are people here from everywhere, man. It’s like a little mini-Earth of its own.
Holy shit, I just blew my own mind.
10:10PM Guess I better go wait at the gate. What gate am I? E62? Where am I now? A49? Oh, SHIT.
10:15PM I gotta get one of these moving walkways in my house. These things are incredible. I feel like I'm fast forwarding... THROUGH LIFE!
No wait! We need to install one in the new offense. Know how mobile I’d be cruisin’ past defenders on this bitch? God, we’re gonna go 16-0.
10:25PM Man, this gate area’s crowded. I’m going to Hudson News.
10:26PM Shit man, I gotta look at that Playboy’s Nudes. Is anyone around? I gotta wait for the shit to clear. Okay, I’m going in. They won’t notice if I tear the cellophane off.
Mmmmm, tits. Oh, yeah. Tits are my friend.
10:28PM Man, where is Rolling Stone? All I see is Vanity Fair. Who the fuck reads that shit?
10:29PM This gate area’s depressing. Where the fuck am I supposed to sit? These fucking old people put their bags all over the shit.
Christ, lady, control your fucking children! Can’t you see how miserable they’re making everyone? I’mma throw them out the jetway.
I wonder if that guy is done with that USA Today sports section.
Shit. He isn’t.
I can’t take this shit much longer.
10:35PM OOOOH, an arcade!!!!!
10:40PM Galaga, you are my BITCH.
11:15PM (walks up to gate agent)
Hello, I’m Michael Vick. I believe I have a reservation for the 8:35 flight. I’m ready to board.
Fuck me man, I am STONED. Woo! You ever get so stoned you get tunnel vision? My field of vision is the size of a fucking dime right now. Gotta get into this motherfuckin’ house. Where my keys?
(searches for keys, finds them in his pocket attached to an alligator bottle opener key chain)
Here they are! No wait, these are the keys to the house in Buckhead. Oh fuck.
Holy shit, I am wobbling.
Time to do some jimmyin’
(opens door with credit card)
Nice. Hey, Priscilla! I’m home, bitch! Where you at? Hey, why didn’t my alarm go off? And why is my fishbowl broken? And why is there furniture overturned in my living room? I never had furniture in my living room before. And where’s my 1000-carat diamond picture frame featuring me and Frank Beamer with Frank Beamer cropped out? And where did Marcus go? And how come there ain’t any Tyson’s Chicken nuggets in the freezer? And where’s that John Singer Sargent painting that my agent made me purchase?
Wait a second.
I know what this is.
I’m REALLY, REALLY fucking stoned!
Fuckin’ A. This is some good shit. One time I smoked up and saw a purple swan, but I ain’t ever seen shit like this. Unless I’m in the wrong house. I’m not in the wrong house, am I? Wait a second, I’m not that stoned. I smoked, like, six bowls. That ain’t shit.
I’ve been robbed! Oh my God. I feel so violated, just like anyone who has to watch “Lil' Bush”! Oh, I am fucking pissed. Nobody gets to violate me except for ME! I’mma fucking find whoever did this. Right after I watch this DVD of “House Party”. Public Enema? Who da hell wants a Public Enema! Ha ha ha! That shit cracks me up every time.
(goes into TV room and sees TV is missing)
Motherfucker! They took my TV! They even took the emergency TV in the study! NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!! The fuck am I supposed to stare blankly at now? Shit, they even took all the pictures of me off the game wall! I’m so fucking mad. I’mma catch these fuckers, unless I have to watch tape in order to do it.
And where the fuck are my floor buffers?! I can’t enjoy this pleasant buzz when my floors have a matte finish! That’s why I kept TWO buffers in the house! This is ruining my shit! GAH!!!!!!!!!
All right, Mike. Just calm down. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just the Feds digging around for clandestine canine burial grounds. No big deal. They’re just stupid fucking dogs. No one gives a shit about that except Inspector Todd.
How could they have gotten in? No one could possibly crack my security code of 1-2-3-4. It’s so clever in its obviousness! God dammit! Fuckin' Slomin's Shield don't shield shit! I wonder who did this. Was it Greg Knapp? I bet it was Greg Knapp. Assistants don’t make SHIT. Fuck him. Fuck that Knappy-headed ho. Better call 911.
Oh snap, wait. If I call 911, they’ll know I was smokin’ pot earlier. And they’ll know about that hermit I killed and bricked into the basement. And they’ll find my stash. And the room full of illegal Cambodian immigrants. And my ketchup. And all those crude landmines I tried to make out of Tide and used toilet paper rolls. Can’t call the cops! Only one man I can call.
Arthur Blank: Hello?
Hello, Mr. Home Depot Man! You fix shit, right? You a handyman?
Arthur Blank: No, Michael. I’m the CEO.
Yeah, well I need to C-E YO ass down at my place in VA. And I need you to bring a wet/dry vac because someone stole the toilet and I’m gonna have to piss on my own damn marble floor.
Arthur Blank: Michael, have you been smoking marijuana?
What? Uh, NO! This isn’t Mike. This is, uh, Keith Brooking. I’m like, white and shit. You must have reached me in error, sooth gentleman.
Arthur Blank: Michael, I know it's you. It says so right on my calle...
I have to adjourn to the drawing room now. Good day, kind sir!
(hangs up)
I’mma just have to buy a new house now. Fuck this cleaning shit.
This is fucking great. Honestly, there’s nothing like just loungin’ at home and hanging out with your dog… while he fights another dog to the death while I place bets with this Taiwanese bookie I found in an alley.
Bookie: (flashes large wad of cash) Di mei mao!
Slow your roll, my hairy-moled friend. And get that boom mike outta here. I wanna soak in the atmosphere and shit. What I like about this dogfighting ampitheater I had custom built are the sight lines. Everyone’s got a good view of the fight and shit. (takes bong hit) God, this feels great. Can someone get me a mai tai or a similar rum drink. Mr. Bookie man, would you mind doublin’ as like, a waiter?
Bookie: (pulls revolver) Di mei mao!
All right! All right! Shit. I’ll have Marcus get it. He ain’t doin’ shit. Okay, let’s get these bitches goin’. Who wants to tango with my Priscilla? She the baddest motherfuckin’ rottweiller/pit bull/doberman/German Shepard mix that ever was. She’s Jaws with paws, bitches. That was the tagline to that movie “Man’s Best Friend,” but that shit is mine now.
(A succession of fresh-faced college students bring their dogs around)
Hoo hoo! Look at these tomato cans. Motherfucker, you should just name that bitch Science Diet, cause that’s what Priscilla’s gonna turn her into. God, I fucking love my life. Can’t nobody do what I do: run a huge mid-Atlantic dog-fighting ring while nicely toasted and have no one be wise to it.
Bookie: Di mei mao!
That’s it, folks! The time for placin’ bets is fuckin’ over. Now it’s time for some high-end canine Kumite shit. What’s the name of Priscilla’s victim this evening? Lucille? Oh, that’s fucking rich. Two bitches goin’ at it hard. I wonder: can two dogs have a catfight?
Hang on. I just dazzled myself.
Inspector Todd: Vick!
The fuck is that?
Inspector Todd: Where is that motherfuckin’ Vick?!
Oh shit.
Inspector Todd: The fuck are you doin’, Vick?!
Shit, I’m hallucinating again. Who laced my shit?! Inspector Todd from the “Beverly Hills Cop” films is back again!
Inspector Todd: You goddamn right I’m back. What the fuck are you having a fucking dog fight here for, motherfucker?
You’re not here! I’m not listening! You’re really actor Gilbert R. Hill and shit!
Inspector Todd: The fuck I am.
Inspector Todd, I don’t know why you have to use so much profanity.
Inspector Todd: You been holdin’ illegal fucking dogfights in this fucking state for too long, Vick!
It wasn’t my idea! It was Marcus’! You know he’s the violent one!
Inspector Todd: Don’t fuckin’ lie to me!
What’s the problem? We’re havin’ fun and shit! Ain’t nobody getting hurt. Except the dogs.
Inspector Todd: And what the fuck you need to bet on this shit for?!
I dunno. Flash money.
Inspector Todd: Oh, I see. Flash money. Let’s see. $2,000 for a suit. $500 for a tie. A requisition order for a Ferrari. The fuck you need all this shit for?
Oh, please don’t hurt me, Inspector Todd! I was just trying to make things happen like I always do! I’m gonna change! I swear! I ain’t gonna smoke any more laced dope. And I’m gonna stop hanging out with the wrong crowd.
Bookie: Di mei mao!
Except Lo Tan. He and I are tight.
Inspector Todd: This is your last chance, Vick. You’re a talented QB, but I’m tired. I’m tired of watchin’ you fuck up again and again. I’m tired of this shit. You hear me? Fuckin’ tired.
Okay. Okay! I promise I’ll quit! No more! I swear! I just wanna hang, Inspector Todd! Inspector Todd? Inspector Todd, where’d you go? Lo Tan, you see a really angry black man screaming at me in here just now?
Bookie: Di mei mao!
No? So it was all in my head? Phew! Man, that was fucking trippy. Okay, Priscilla. Go tear that bitch’s head off.
Photo courtesy of The Onion.
UPDATE: Did you know there's a death metal group fronted entirely by pit bull vocalists? That's right. Say hello to Caninus, Michael Vick's favorite new band.
Vick: Oh man, this is a long ass wait. Ma’am, how long have I been up in this bitch?
Receptionist: Three minutes, Mr. Vick.
Vick: Fuck me, man. You got any other magazines here besides “House Beautiful”?
Receptionist: No, Mr. Vick.
Vick: The fuck, man? I read “King”. Can I get another glass of water?
Receptionist: You’ve had six already.
Vick: I’m so thirsty. God, I’d love to just go swimming. You ever stick your donger in front of the water jet?
Receptionist: No.
Vick: It’s fucking great.
Receptionist: The Commissioner will see you now.
Vick: Nice. (walks into commissioner’s office) Whoa, this is fucking nice. I could sleep here.
Goodell: Hello, Michael.
Vick: This your office?
Goodell: Uh, yes.
Vick: I gotta ask Mr. Home Depot for an office like this. Is that a Geochron? Fucking sweet. I like Russia, because it’s really big.
Goodell: Michael, would you mind taking a seat?
Vick: Not at all, Mr. commissioner man.
Goodell: Michael, we’ve had some concerns about your recent conduct.
Vick: Are these Werther’s Originals?
Goodell: Uh… yes.
Vick: You mind if I have one?
Goodell: Sure, go right ahead.
Vick: These are great. You mind if I just throw the rest of them in my hat for later?
Goodell: Michael, our league office is extremely concerned about what’s been going on in your life. It’s hurting the league’s image.
Vick: Ah man, that’s some bullshit. Like what?
Goodell: Well, the cockfighting.
Vick: I already explained that shit. I don’t even live at that house. I’m never there. Unless there’s a cockfight going on. But it’s not like I ORGANIZE that shit. It’s very spontaneous and free-flowing.
Goodell: And the dog fighting?
Vick: Bob Barker told me to help control the pet population, sir. I take that shit seriously. Jack Russell terriers are fucking feisty!
Goodell: We’ve also heard reports of frequent marijuana use.
Vick: That’s just a flat lie. I would never smoke pot on weekdays. Do you wanna watch a DVD or something? This whole meeting is fucking up my chi.
Goodell: Okay, I’m not gonna dance around it anymore, Mr. Vick. You need to straighten out your act, or else you may find yourself suspended from play.
Vick: WHAT?! That’s horseshit! Can’t nobody do what I do!
Goodell: I know you can run very fast.
Vick: Goddamn right! AND I’ve done good shit, man! I went to Va. Tech when Data from “The Goonies” started going apeshit!
Goodell: We appreciate that, believe me.
Vick: And I went to DC to talk about kids and shit!
Goodell: I thought you missed the flight.
Vick: You ever fly fucking Delta? FUCK DELTA. The one time they aren’t late is the one time I am. I ain’t had nothing to do with that shit!
Goodell: Look, just be careful, okay? You’re an incredibly talented young man, and I’d hate to see you throw it all away.
Vick: You got it, Mr. Tagliabue.
Goodell: Goodell.
Vick: Oh yeah yeah. Forgot about that. It was so sad how that Tagliabue died of lupus and shit.
Welcome to the latest installment of KSK's newest series, Better Know a Draft Pick. We'll lead up to April's draft by giving you all the pertinent info you'll need on the league's newest disappointments-to-be.
Name: Adam Gaines Gaines Adams
Height: Tall Body Type: Longer than the SG's diary Speed: Good enough
Urine Sample: Shwaggy Stool Sample: Soft and lacking bulk
Who's Interested: The camera guy in the green room
Who Will Take Him: The Vikings. He's the one piece that could make all the difference between a two-win season and a three-win season.
Honors: People have been riding his jock for quite some time. His CSTV bio tells us that Gaines was named "...first-team preseason All-American according to Playboy, Lindy's, and Phil Steele." Now this is just a guess but I'd say that's a nudie magazine, a strip club, and an aging porn star. Not too shabby.
Story ESPN Will Shove Down Your Throat: He admitted to smoking marijuana so now we get to hear all of their fucking analysts talk about weed more than yours truly. Fuck steroids, binge drinking, and unprotected sex with skanky co-eds--these Kottonmouth Kings are a bunch of midnight tokers! (multi-generational musical fun!)
Ambitions: Doin' coke, drinkin' beers. Drinkin' beers, beers beers. Rollin' fatties, smokin' blunts. Who smokes the blunts? We smoke the blunts. Fav Hangout: In between a convenience store and a video store
Fav Food: Whatever's special Biggest Fear: Evil Bong
Immediate Impact: Automaic insertion into the league's substance abuse program will not stop him from knocking the shit out of quarterbacks in his rookie year (Goodell: HGH isn't a substance if I can't see it!).
Vick: (startles awake) What?! What the fuck is that?!
(phone rings)
Vick: Is that the phone, or am I still trapped in that dream with the cannibal mafia hitman?
(phone rings)
Vick: Okay, I think it’s the phone. Fuck, man.
(phone rings)
Vick: (takes bong hit) Hello?
Blank: Hello, Michael?
Vick: Maybe…
Blank: Michael, it’s Arthur Blank.
Vick: Man, I told you motherfuckers I don’t want that Fios hi-speed internet shit!
Blank: No, Michael, it’s Mr. Blank. From the Falcons!
Vick: What? Oh hey, Mr. Owner-man! The one with the mustache! How the fuck you doin’?
Blank: Listen Michael, I just wanted to let you know that we tra…
Vick: You the motherfucker that own Home Depot, right?
Blank: Yes.
Vick: Why can’t I ever find a motherfucker to help my ass in that goddamn store?
Blank: Well, we try and lay out the store so that it’s user-friendly.
Vick: Fuck that. And how come I need anchors when I screw shit in the drywall? I’m just trying to put in a shelf, and it turns into some 8-hour project and shit. My fishbowl keeps sliding off it now, man. Fuck.
Blank: Well, the anchors keep the drywall from coming loose.
Vick: Well, how come I don’t need an anchor for screwing into wood?
Blank: Because it’s stronger.
Vick: Then why don’t they just make the whole wall outta wood? Riddle me that!
Blank: Because it would warp. It’s just not a good idea.
Vick: (takes bong hit) That’s fucked up.
Blank: Anyway, Michael, I wanted to let you know that we traded Matt Schaub.
Vick: Who the fuck is that?
Blank: Our backup QB.
Vick: You mean the white boy?
Blank: Yes.
Vick: Damn. That motherfucker was good. Like really good.
Blank: Anyway, Michael, I thought you’d be pleased to hear the news. There’s no ambiguity about where you stand now.
Vick: Ambiguity? You calling me a fag?
Blank: No, I’m saying YOU ARE THE MAN NOW.
Vick: Yeah man, but white boy knew the motherfuckin’ playbook, man. He’s the one who watched film and went to meetings for me. He had good notes, man. Who the fuck am I gonna crib shit from now? What did you trade him for?
Blank: Two second rounders.
Vick: Two second rounders?! Motherfucker, you crazy? I just smoked a bowl laced with Liquid Plumr, and even I wouldn’t trade the bitch for that little. Why don’t you just trade him for a Slush Puppy while you’re at it?
Blank: I thought you’d be happy.
Vick: I just… I just don’t need this kinda pressure in my life right now, man. Everybody’s looking AT ME, man. Why can’t we all just slow the fuck down for a second and consider things like, tall wavy grass and shit?
Blank: Maybe this isn’t the best time to talk.
Vick: And how come they don’t serve burgers at the Home Depot? I’m moving lumber and shit. I get fucking hungry, man!
Blank: I think I’ll call back later.
Vick: It burns when you snort vodka. Wait… are you still on the line?
Blank: Yes.
Vick: Is this Marcus?
Blank: No Michael, it’s Arthur Blank.
Vick: Marcus, I think I just hallucinated. Schauby was in Texas and my chicken sandwich stood up on its hind legs.
(Mr. Blank hangs up.)
Vick: Hello? Fuck, Marcus, are you impersonating a dial tone again? Ha ha ha! Holy fuck, I am stoned. I’m not sure I can move. I feel like drinking an entire bottle of Caesar salad dressing. What’s that buzzing sound?!
Photo, as always, courtesy of the Onion. Oh, and nice job not trading for Matt Schaub, Minnesota Vikings. You fucking impotent assholes.
Oh my God, I am fucking STONED. What? Where are we? What? Oh man, look at the store directory! All the stores on the first concourse are green, man! They’re fucking green! And all the stores on the second concourse are red! That’s fucked up, man. Where are we? Nordstrom’s? What is that? That smells like old people, man. I can smell the old people from here.
Wait, wait. Never mind. That’s grandma. She’s standing right there. Sorry, grandma. I just so fucking stoned right now. The walls are getting all jiggly!
Where’s the food court? Nah, man. I want some Panda Express. They serve you everything in one bigass bowl. I love that. All food should come in a single bowl. It’s like family style. For one. I am my own family. So true, man. So fucking true.
Is that a Chico’s? I don’t fucking get it, bro. There’s a Chico’s in every fucking mall, and no one’s ever in it. Where is Chico getting all the money? I bet he’s dealing. I bet Chico can get some nasty, fucked up shit that makes the horizon all jagged and shit.
It’s so bright in here, man. Where’s the fucking Sunglass Hut? What? It’s a kiosk and not a hut? That’s fucked up.
Man, there are eight million jewelers in here. Who keeps buying girls all these diamonds? How many tennis bracelets do you need?
Wait, wait, wait. Ha ha HA! I am fucking STONED, grandma. This must be the same feeling you get when you sit on your porch and drink Country Time. It is NICE. You know what I do when I’m really, really fucked up? I go to Bath & Body Works and I smell all the candles. They have a S’Mores candle, and I swear to God it smells EXACTLY like S’Mores. One time I took a bite out of one. It did NOT taste like S’Mores. But look how shiny my teeth are!
I think I have to throw up.
You ever just, like, sit in a Pottery Barn? It’s so tranquil. Oh, oh! You know what I like to do! I like to go to Brooks Brothers, and then have them fit me for a suit. They take you in the back, and they put you on this little pedestal, and then they, like measure you and shit. And it’s those old Italian fuckers that do it. Not fake Italians, like that fuck Tony Danza. Real little Italian men. Like they were just flown in. It’s so fucking classy.
I don’t get it. Sometimes, B. Dalton has porn and sometimes it doesn’t. Holy shit, I’m losing my balance. I think this weed had pesticide on it. There’s no way someone paid $15 million to Daniel fucking Graham. Everyone’s fucked up!
Gap, man. What the fuck? Who needs that much khaki? It’s khaki overload, bro. Even Peyton Manning doesn’t need that much. Dude, Brookstone and Sharper Image are the same goddamn store. And why is that Suncoast pictures still around? Is there any fucking point to that store?
Whoa, I am locked in on that strobe light. I am locked in on it and am now orbiting it. It’s totally sucked me in. You guys go on without me. This may be a while. I am totally in its grasp.
Whoa. That was amazing. I am FUCKED UP. Let’s go to Williams Sonoma. I want to buy a tin of peppermint bark for $40. Did you know you can return anything to LL Bean and they’ll just take it back? I returned a box of wine there once, and I didn’t even get it there! Amazing.
Why does Marcus want to go to Urban Outfitters? Pfft. Ain’t nothing urban about that store. Champs Sports, now THAT is fucking urban, man. White people stay away from that place in droves.
(small angelic choir begins singing in Vick’s head)
Holy shit, the FOOD COURT! Nice. I’mma have a Mrs. Fields cookie before I do anything. They got a cookie pizza! Oh my God, I want a slice. Semi-sweet WITH motherfuckin’ nuts. Let’s go to Taco Bell and drink Fire Sauce right from the packet. And get a small drink. Not a large. They give you free fucking refills, man. A small IS a large. They’re the same. I just blew my own mind. I want Sbarro AND Steak Escape. Is that allowed?
God, this food tastes so fucking good. I’m gonna sleep here.
