Vick: Oh.

Oh, man.

Oh, Sweet Wilma Flintstone. DAMN.

I am fucking HIGH!

Can’t slow my roll! Even Jeremy Maclin’s mystery herpes ain’t gonna slow down MV7. I got everything I need for this season: LeSean, DeSean, probably some other Sean, Nnamdi, this 3D pegasus sticker they sold me at the Rite Aid… Look at that pegasus, man. If I look at it this way, its wings are down, but if I look at it THIS way, its wings are up! That’s SORCERY, bitch.

(door issued tersely worded warning to open or face potential locking out)

Goodell: Michael, glad I found you!

Vick: Oh! Oh, shit! It’s my red-headed stepdad!

Goodell: Michael, we have a bit of a problem.

Vick: I know! The Rite Aid had NO Visine! THE FUCK?

Goodell: It’s not that. Listen, we need to talk about this GQ article.

Vick: Oh, you mean the one from the Raisin Man. That was one fucked up white boy. Ate raisins ALL THE DAMN TIME. Went on and on about baseball like a damn BITCH.

Goodell: Yes well, you see this part where you intimated that we forced you to sign with the Eagles instead of the Bills or Bengals?

Vick: Oh right! I do! You said you’d put my mom into foreclosure if I signed with Cincy. CLEAR AS DAY. I may be high, but some things still stick around in this dome!

Goodell: Actually, I do believe that joining the Eagles was your choice.

Vick: It was?

(flashes back)

(The Vick home, 2009)

Goodell: YOU WILL SIGN THIS FUCKING CONTRACT OR I WILL PACMAN JONES YOU INTO THE GODDAMN POORHOUSE.

Dungy: Listen to him, Michael. You must consider what is best for THE LEAGUE, for what is best for THE LEAGUE is also best for you. And for Your Maker.

Vick: But I wanna start! Lee Evans said he can’t wait to drop balls 50 yard downfield from me! CAIN’T DO THAT IN PHILLY!

Dungy: (takes off belt and lashes Vick across the face with it) SILENCE!

(back to present day)

Goodell: Absolutely. It was YOUR decision.

Vick: Huh. I must have been… Huh. Shit. DAMN.

Goodell: Listen, a simple statement will clear this all up. Let me help you with it.

(whips out pen)

Vick: Okay. (starts writing) “Dear Mom,”

Goodell: You don’t have to address it. It’s not a letter. Just write the statement. “I, Michael Vick…”

Vick: “I, Michael Vick…”

Goodell: “…was in NO WAY influenced by the NFL or commissioner Roger Goodell…”

Vick: “…was in NO WAY influenced by the NFL or commissioner Roger Goodell…” Are you sure I wasn’t influenced?

Goodell: Absolutely. Not influenced AT ALL. Now keep writing. “…in my decision making.”

Vick: “…in my decision making.” Is that the right wording? I can’t decide.

Goodell: IT’S THE RIGHT WORDING. NOW SIGN IT.

Vick: But who’s this Goodell fella you keep mentioning?

Goodell: I AM.

Vick: Oh. Really? WOW. That’s a serious-ass plot twist right there.

Goodell: Just send out that statement. And if anyone asks you, the NFL has NEVER influenced your decision-making.

Vick: And what do I have for dinner tonight?

Goodell: Chinese. Gotta go Chinese.

Vick: Damn! That’s a bold choice! Can’t go wrong listening to y’all!