Oh, shit.

Oh, shit damn.

Fuck me up the ass.

I AM STONED.

Matt Ryan, I wanted to write to you on the inside of this toilet paper roll to tell you something important. And that is that… FUCK I’M HIGH!

No, wait. That ain’t it. I’m here to tell you that, no matter what you do, no matter how well you play, the people of Atlanta will never love you. Ever. Not the way they love me.

Know why? Because you’re a fucking cracker.

Also, you don’t fight dogs. EVERYONE in Atlanta fights dogs. People who don’t fight dogs are probably gay. So you should know that. That is, like, culture and shit. You ain’t country. You ain’t ever been country. So you can suck the sweet tea right outta my dong.

I bet you own a computer. You’re a fucking nerd.

You can’t do what I do. Just remember that. I am Atlanta’s first love. The people there will never accept a QB who stands tall in the pocket, makes sound decisions, and throws a catchable ball. Know why? Because quarterbacks who stand tall in the pocket are little white bitches.

In conclusion, fuck you.

Also, I am high.

Send Weed,
Ookie

Photo courtesy of The Onion

Oh, man.

Oh, shit damn.

Oh, fuckin’ shit goddamn.

Lord have mercy. Lord got chronic!

I am stoned.

You ever get so stoned that, like, you start remembering shit you had totally forgotten about? Now that I’m in prison, I do that shit ALL THE TIME. Just yesterday, Pookie made some insane kinda crack made outta old rat shit. We called that shit The Secret Of NIMH, as in Now I’s Most High. Anyway, once I smoked it, I started remembering all this crazy ass shit that happened to me. Like, one time, I ate a girl’s butt. No lie. I, like, drilled a hole in her butt with my tongue. That was fucking crazy, man. Tasted like motor oil. Ookie had the ass that day.

Then I remembered Skee Lo. Remember Skee Lo? That little brutha could SPIT! Loved that shit. Then I remembered “Puttin’ on the Hits,” which was, like, that Wayne Brady karaoke show, only it was on way before Wayne Brady decided to become one of those Broadway homos. They had this theme music that was, like, Pu-pu-pu-pu-puttttttin on the HIIIITS! BAHAHAHAHA! That shit was loco, man.

Then I remembered the time I killed that squirrel with a rock. I guess that was the first time I realized I could play quarterback. Shit damn, I musta killed 750 squirrels that summer. PEEP THAT COMPLETION PERCENTAGE, GREG KNAPP, YOU WEST COAST BITCH!

Then I remembered where I had left off in “Legend Of Zelda: Ocarina Of Time”. I had just figured out how to play that shit. If you played the right tune, Link got all big. It was, like, music made him grown and shit. Just like the first time I listened to Obi Trice. The fuck is an ocarina? Is it like a flute? A harmonica? A flutonica? That’s some gay ass shit.

Oh shit! I left a pack of Fudge Stripes on the radiator!

Anyway, Miss Jenkins, I was busy getting’ hiiiiiiiiiiiigh when I remembered all the things I did to you back when I was in your second grade class. I remembered the time I cheated on that one test. You didn’t let people use calculators, but I snuck one in my sock. It was solar powered. I liked covering up that solar stripe with my finger. The numbers would fucking disappear! Holy shit! Math don’t work at night!

Then I remembered the time I put that cherry bomb in your desk. Only I didn’t know how to make a cherry bomb, so I just doused a Mon Cheri with gasoline and lit it on fire. That was some sexual chocolate. Then I remembered the time I set fire to your car. Then I remembered the time I saw your bra. Miss Jenkins, you got some tits. Oh man, you got some tits. Oh God. They’re so creamy. Like whip cream on a milk shake. They’re so hot, so fucking hot…

Damn, I just busted in my pants.

Anyway, I’ve had lots of time to think here in prison. I’ve been trying to think of all the things I’ve done wrong. And while I may have made some mistakes, I can say I definitely learned…

Michael Vick!

Who’s that?!

Michael Vick! Move on now, son. Move expeditiously!

Oh snap! It’s Principal Joe Clark! And his minions!

They used to call me crazy Joe? Well, now they can call me Batman! Or Crazy Asshole With Bat! Or That Bat Guy! Or Bat Nguyen! Or Batman Crothers!

Oh, Mr. Clark! Please don’t kill me! I will move expeditiously, sir!

Look at you, boy! You smoke rat, don’t cha, boy?!

I dunno. Maybe.

LOOK AT ME, BOY! YOU SMOKE RAT, DON’T YOU?!

Okay! All right! It’s true! I smoked that shit up! I’m so sorry, Mr. Clark!

Why don’t you just jump off the roof, right here and now?

But I can’t get to the roof.

That’s what you really want, isn’t it? Yes, you do. You smoke rat, don’t you, boy? Don’t you smoke rat? Yeah, I thought so. And you know what that does to you? You don’t? It kills your brain cells, son. It kills your brain cells!

They keep my brain in another cell? Holy shit, how’d they do that?!

Now when you’re destroying your brain cells, you’re doing the same thing as killing yourself. You’re just doing it slower! Now, I say if your wanna kill yourself, do it expeditiously! Go on and shiv yourself! SHIV!

No, Mr. Clark! I don’t wanna do that! I want to live! I want to get out of this place and eat Fudge Stripe cookies again, because they are delicious! I want to protect my brain cells so that I can, like, learn new things! Like how to program a universal remote! Or download stuff from bigwetazzes.com! I WANNA LIVE, MR. CLARK! I wanna eat more butts!

You’ll be dead in a year, son. You hear me? You’ll be dead in a year.

No, Mr. Clark! Wait! Don’t go! Please! Don’t go!

Is he gone?

I think he’s gone.

Whew! That was freaky. Pookie gone and made that batch of NIMH too damn strong. TOO DAMN STRONG!

Anyway, Miss Jenkins, you got some fine ass tits.

Love,

Mikey

Dear Mister Home Depot Man,

Oh man.

Oh shit.

Oh shit damn.

Oh fuoouooouoouck.

I am HIGH! I mean, god to the DAMN! Ain’t no high like a prison high, Mr. Home Depot Man. Shit feel pretty good. There’s not a lot of weed to go around here, so I’ve been spending most of my time smoking crystallized urine, also known as “Canary Diamond”. It’s not bad. Once you get used to the smell, it doesn’t really bother you.

And the longer Pookie leaves his shit on the radiator, the stronger it gets. It also helps if he doesn’t drink any water for, like, a week. That shit browns up real nice. It’s like, got a higher concentration of urea in it. How you like that? And they said I was bad at team chemistry. I’m learnin’ all kinds of chemistry up in this bitch.

Is someone pouring ketchup on me? What’s that smell?

Anyway, the first time I smoked some of this Asshish, I didn’t like it. All it did was make me dizzy and sick. And my fingernails started falling out. But after a couple of tokes, that buzz comes on STRAH-WRONG! For six weeks, I was convinced I was made of cardboard. Then everything I touched turned into bubbles. I like it.

Whoa, look! Bubbles! With little hos in them!

I ain’t gonna lie to you, Mr. Home Depot Man. It’s tough here in prison. I certainly wish I had gone to one of your fine stores before coming here. This cell could use some serious goddamn crown molding. And I KNOW I’m not the only motherfucker here that feels that way. These fixtures are some cheap ass shit.

I have tried to pass the time by reading some of my favorite books. Like this one.

Motherfucker, you wouldn’t believe how crazy some of these hippos get. They don’t give a fuck about nuthin’. Sometimes they come out of the book and we wrestle. Then I end up covered in my own shit. I don’t know how that happens, but it’s solid.

There’s something dripping in here.

I have been making great efforts to be a better person, and have been reflecting on the error of my ways. I know now that it was wrong to fight dogs in Virginia. I should have made them fight over in Cambodia, where both dog fighting and human fighting are totally legal, and encouraged!

I’m also getting much deeper into religion. A man named Kassim here says I can find salvation through a dude named Allah. All I have to do is run a crude hook through a white boy once a week. I tell you what, they don’t like white people here. It’s a real nice change of pace from out there.

There are tadpoles swimming in my eyes.

I know that people have been saying I’m playing football in there, but that is not true. They do have a football team here, but you should see some of the motherfuckers they have! They have QB’s who complete over 40% of their throws! They must be, like, superpros or something. I can’t compete with that shit. And they run designed plays! You gotta study them! I didn’t come to prison to study. That would be like being in school again. What a fuckin’ mightmare that would be!

My skin seems to have developed a graham cracka crust. It’s delicious. I don’t mind helping myself to a little piece of me!

In closing, Mr. Home Depot Man, send money. And pie.

-MV7