Vick: Oh, Lord.

Good God, man.

Holy shit.

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…

Vick: Dude, anywhere I go, Abe’s eyes follow me! That’s fucked up.

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.

Photoshop courtesy of The Onion