I miss Mike Vick. Sure he killed some dogs, but, dammit, he made last year's off-season slightly less miserable. This year we have nothing. Well, nothing except mocking Pats' fans and the occasional comic relief from YouTube.
Maybe I'm over-analyzing this video, but marketing a weed-based breakfast cereal seems counterintuitive since stoners sleep past noon and tend to skip breakfast. Still, it's not difficult to imagine Mike Vick getting high and staring into his Alpha-Bits looking for a message telling him how he's going to get out of the mess that his life has become.
Reader Andrew T. points us to obscure second year d-lineman Alfred Malone, who recently joined the Packers. Something about Alfred looks awfully familiar. Even suspicious. As flubby noted, Alfred Malone is an even worse pseudonym than Ron Mexico. Sounds like a shotgun-toting Irish nightwatchman.
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!
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!
My beagle Snoop was showing his doggy ass this afternoon, so I made him watch the latest video from Will Ferrell's Funny or Die. He has humped nary a leg since then. Thanks Mike, and watch out for yer cornhole, bud.
A tip of the chewed-up Raiders' Starter hat to the cagey roughnecks at Sons of Sam Malone.
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?!
Mike Vick co-defendants Purnell Peace and Quanis Phillips will reportedly appear in court later this week to formally accept guilty plea agreements. This would leave Ookie as the sole remaining defendant. In legal parlance, Vick has gone from being merely fucked to supreme mega-fucked 5000.
ESPN reports Vick is considering taking a plea himself to avoid additional federal charges. At this point, a trial seems unlikely. Vick should start preparing himself for incarceration. Any man loses his spoon spends a night in the box, or so we hear.
(Alternate Headline: "Donny Dogkiller: Sports Illustrated Links Mattingly to Dog Fighting")
Ah, 1987. We were all so much more careful, more prepared for the worst twenty years ago. No one was on Prozac. The Unabomber bombed freely. The Japanese stood poised to destroy every American business. Consecutive summer Olympics had been marred by Cold War boycotts. And presidential scandals were all about taking the money from illegal arms sales to sworn enemies and using it to illegally fund rebels opposing a sworn enemy on a different continent (Take that, blowjobs and far-ranging organizational incompetence). It was an era where we handled impending doom with abject fear, instead of today's more popular ironic detachment and willful ignorance.
And though few remember it, pit bulls -- not the well-intended gambling addicts training them to kill -- were the next Great Menace. Hey, something had to replace Soviet Russia.
Yes, it was 20 years ago this week that SI featured the dangerous "pit bull terrier" with an ominous "Beware of Dog" sign posted on the fence around its magazine. And I think we need to reflect on this. It's time to give Michael Vick a break and look at the real enemy: pit bulls. Because has Vick ever actually killed a pit bull? Well, yes. Probably. But he was mostly putting the animals that he cared for out of their misery. Animals that were MAULED BY PIT BULLS. Not humans. Not Michael Vick. Pit bulls. And they need to take some of the blame.
Alas, young Ookie was only seven at the time of the SI cover story, and SI KIDS didn't make its debut until 1989 (And even then it was all puff pieces: Look at this popular athlete! We photographed him smiling AND jumping!). It's safe to say he missed the lessons of this SI feature that targeted young athletes with pro aspirations. Among the warnings about pit bulls:
- Minimal shedding negated by propensity for bleeding on carpet. - Tendency to hump other dogs against their will, eat babies. - Product of communism (probably). - Did not participate in Hands Across America. - Are easily bred to believe Holocaust did not occur. - Likely to kill adorable cobras. - Menacing nature confirmed when pit bull puppet attacked Ronald Reagan puppet in "Land of Confusion." - Probable source of AIDS. - Fur not very soft. - Will totally fuck up your NFL career.
Unfortunately, the warning went unheeded on the gritty streets of Bad Newz, and now it's NFL fans who suffer at the loss of the most electrocuting player in the league.
I'll be one of the first to admit that one of the problems with Chancellor Goodell's wave of personal conduct righteousness is the near-total disregard for due process. Michael Vick, among other players whose names and situations have been well-documented, face harsh suspensions (or even expulsions from their respective teams) with little more than a wave of The Rogg's hand. Vick's situation, obviously more emotionally charged than those before it, appears even more perilous. Casual observers, even Vick supporters, risk being labeled as "haters," which, I guess, is bad.
So how would one be able to publicly show support for Mr. Vick? Especially when the media, PETA, and the Salvation Army are all out to get him? Fortunately, KSK has obtained such a manifesto, in 3 parts, geared toward providing Ookie with the fan base he currently so desperately needs.
This guide was intended to be posted AS A COMMENT on Deadspin earlier today (I'm not making that up), but was intercepted by noted Combudsman Rob Iracane. KSK then brokered a deal with Mr. Iracane to acquire the manuscript, along with the rights to reproduce it in this space, as a way of telling the "other side" of this fascinating tale.
I present the Ookie Manifesto:
Article I.
FUCK ALL OF YOU VICK HATERS YOU CAN SUCK THOSE DOGS DICKS. HOW COULD YOU FUCKING FAGGOTS CARE SO MUCH ABOUT DESTRUCTIVE ASS PIT BULLS, THESE FUCKING DOGS HAVE BEEN RECORDED KILLING FUCKING HUMANS. SO SHUT THE FUCK UP AND KISS HIS ASS!!!!
Article II.
YOU FUCKING CRACKERS TRIED TO GET HIM OUT OF THE LEAGUE A LONG TIME AGO DEAL WITH IT HE IS A GREAT ATHLETE . ONE OF YOUR FELLOW FEMALE CRACKERS WENT BEHIND THIS AFRO AMERICAN AND PICKED UP HIS FUCKING WATER BOTTLE AND SAID IT SMELT OF WEED. ONLY IF THIS BITCH IS ALSO A FUCKING DOG AND A REGULAR CHRONIC SMOKER WOULD SHE BE ABLE TO SNIFF THE SCENT OF WEED ON THE TOP OF A WATER BOTTLE.
VICK IS RIGHT!!!! ALL THE TIME YOU GO VICK!!!!!
Article III.
RAY BU(FUCKIN)CHANNON IS A BITCH
--END--
To recap:
1. Perform canine fellatio immediately. Kiss ass. 2. Even the g0ddamn dogs are out to frame Vick. 3. Ray Buchanan is a bitch.
As if we could really have an all-out Mike Vick day here in the blogosphere without an official wardrobe! When you go down to the courthouse for the trial of the century don't be caught without your o-fficial FREE OOKIE! clothes (because nudity just doesn't fly in those southern courthouses).
Our first number is a vibrant red cotton t-shirt with everybody's new favorite motto scrawled across the front. If you select the premium option you can even get writing on the back (the future is now!).
And as long as you're out spending money on yourself why not pick up something for the little Vick fan in your family? Seriously, you need to take better care of your kids before the state gets involved.
And don't worry ladies, we've got the goodness the fairer sex. Now just go find some sugar daddy to buy it for your stingy ass. All the goodness can be found at our shop by clicking HERE (or the nifty picture up in the top right corner). Stay tuned because more great stuff is on the way.
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.
To be honest, trying to fill space during this interminable off-season can be vexing a real pain in the ass. That's why KSK loves the godsend that is NFL's new bossman, Roger Goodell. Rog has made it perfectly clear the axe swings on his schedule and at his pleasure-- “due process” be damned. For all we know, at anytime Goodell may drop the bomb on Mike Vick with the gusto of Peter King demolishing a plate of canapés at the hospitality tent.
However, an unintended consequence of Roger Goodell's new suspend-now-sort-out-the-legalities-later personnel conduct policy is that fans, sports radio and wiseacre sports bloggers can't even consider waiting until the legal system runs its course before weighing in on the troubles of ne'er-do-wells like Pacman Jones and Mike Vick. . Under Rog's stewardship, Vick may actually serve his suspension before the courts sort out this whole unseemly affair. Irrational speculation rules!!!
If this mess marks the ends of Vick’s era as a productive NFL QB, then he can always fall back on canine pugilism. Some people would pay good money to see Johnnie Morton fight one of Ron Mexico’s dogs on pay-per-view. Certain advertisers would love it…
