[Bobby Petrino sits at his desk, scribbling on a yellow legal pad]

Dear Falcons,

Petrino: Hmmmm… no, that’s not quite right. More formal.

Dear Atlanta Falcons Players,

Petrino: Closerrrrrr… [flicks pen once, quickly]

Dear Atlanta Falcons Players,

Petrino: Therrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrre we go.

Out of my complete disdain speck for you, I am letting you know that, with great relief a heavy heart, I resigned today as Head Coach of the Atlanta Falcons. YAHOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Petrino: Becky! Get in here!

Becky: [from other room] What is it, Bob? I need to go pick up the kids.

Petrino: GET YOUR ASS IN HERE OR I WILL LEAVE YOU FOR THE FIRST PIECE OF ASS THAT LOOKS AT ME TWICE!!! And I sure as shit won’t stress about writing you a letter!

[His wife enters room]

Petrino: That’s my girl. Take a look at this letter. How’m I doing so far?

Becky: [looks] Well, you spelled “respect” wrong.

Petrino: Really? That’s how DeAngelo says it.

Becky: Is the celebratory “yahoo” really necessary?

Petrino: Too much?

Becky: Well, you can write whatever you want. It’s your team.

Petrino: Not anymore! I dropped them like a second-rate Big East team! YAHOOOOOOOO!!!!! We’re Razorbacks now! C’mon, oink with me! (begins oinking)

Becky: Bob, you need to get that in the mailbox before two o’clock.

Petrino: (stops oinking) You used to be a lot more fun.

This decision was pretty easy and was made in the best interest of me and my family. Mostly me. Kinda my family. Then the folks at Arkansas. Then Falcons owner Arthur Blank. Then some of the people in Atlanta we were going to send Christmas cards to. But you guys were a solid sixth. And by solid I mean distant.

Petrino: Eh?

Becky: (shakes head)

Petrino: Oh, FINE.

This decision was pretty not easy and but was made in the best interest of me and my family. Mostly me. Kinda my family. Then the folks at Arkansas. Then Falcons owner Arthur Blank. Then some of the people in Atlanta we were going to send Christmas cards to. But you guys were a solid sixth. And by solid I mean distant.

Becky: Better.

Petrino: Anal better, or oral better?

Becky: Better better. Get back to work.

While my desire would have been to finish in my wife’s ass, circumstances did not allow me to do so.

Becky: Oh, grow up.

While my desire would have been to finish in my wife’s ass out what has been a difficult season for us all, circumstances did not allow me to do so. I appreciate all your hard work and wish you the best.

Insincerely,

Bobby Petrino

Becky: You realize you’re a 46-year-old man who goes by “Bobby,” right?

Petrino: (sighs) Yeah.

Guess I’ll need to add my middle name if I wanna make it in Arkansas, huh?

Oh, holy shit.

Oh, I am fucking stoned like Mother Teresa.

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.