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

Welcome to a Super special edition of Always Be Covering. It’s that time. It’s the Super Bowl…

She looks tasty.

Fuck.

I really wish this day had never come.

There’s no doubt that it’s a day to be celebrated, but it also reminds us of what we’ll be missing.

No, I’m not talking about the Super Bowl. I’m obviously talking about the debut of Prescription Vending Machines in the state of California.

And you thought ATM muggings were a problem…
Holy crap, this is brilliant. Now I’m not saying that I partake in the whole marijuana thing, but as a Libertarian I am quite pleased. Sure these marijuana dispensers require a prepaid card linked to a doctor’s prescription along with a fingerprint identification, but migraines seem pretty common these days. But why are they so far away?

Anyways, let’s get on to the bet of the year…

The Big Game Teaser
Both lines teased 6 points. Odds: 10/11

I don’t really feel like going back into the archives to see how many teasers I’ve lost this year, but I trust one of you fuckwads will take up the task yourselves. Yeah, teasers are crappy bets and I still don’t fucking care.

Am I some sort of expert gambler?
No.

Have I won any money this season?
Probably not.

Do I sound like David Lookner?
Absolutely!

Alright, fuck it all. Here’s the bet…

New England -5.5 vs. New York
Total Score Over 48.5

Yep, it’s that easy. Enjoy the game everybody. Oh, and don’t bother with work on Monday. That’s for the womenfolk.

So help me God, the first person who comments to tell me I got the line wrong will have the corpse of their most recently deceased relative violated in a most unseemly manor.

Image via America’s Next Pot Model

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.

Vick: (sniffs) Oh yeah. That’ll do, doodoo.

Ha ha! Trick resolution, bitches! I’m in jail! I couldn’t even kill a dog if I wanted to!

I win!

(fashions a shiv)

I better save this for when I get out! I bet I can kill a shitload of dogs in 2009 with this thing!

Vick: Oh, man.

Oh, Christ.

Holy smoke. Holy, holy, holiest of smokes.

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!

Photo courtesy of The Onion.

Let’s make one thing clear up front, I’m not saying I get stoned to the bejeezus belt, flunked a drug test and then bamboozled the commissioner into not suspending me. But IF I wanted to, it would have been pretty easy to do. Just follow these three easy steps.

1. Clean hair sample for testing? Wait until the Cutler kid gets out of the shower and fish some pubes out of the drain. This is much less confrontational than my previous method of hiding his pants and then ripping out a handful in the locker room.

2. You want to know how to pass a polygraph? Easy, just inseminate nine different women. Believe me, when you have knocked up as many honeys as I have you become a master in the art of deception real fast. I’m a lying fucking ninja. “The child support check is in the mail.” “I’ll make it to your birthday party.” “Baby, I have no why that dude is trying to serve me with papers.” “Sure I remember your name, uh, kid.” “I’m gonna have a vasectomy in the off-season.” And so forth.

3. Last step, come up with some bullshit story about being exposed to some second-hand weedsmoke. But careful not to make Goodell think you hang with the wrong crowd. “I swear commissioner, I was walking to bible study when some guy who looked a lot like Selvin Young jumped out of the alley and exhaled his blunt right in my face.”

“Contact high?” BWAHHAHAHAHA! Yeah, that cherry red Graffix bong with the dragon inlay and three foot extension contacted the shit out of my grill, yo. I like dragons. I wish I could breath fire. I’d be all, what’s that Merriman, you trying to stop me? How ’bout I roast your ass like I was Godz– um…uh, I mean, just say no to drugs, kids.

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

Vick: Oh, man.

Oh, boy.

Holy shitaroo.

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.

Vick: No? Well, pardon me, Jesus, but that’s kinda fucked up.

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!

Oh, man.

Oh, Lord.

Dear God, give me the strength to get through this.

I’m asking you, Dear Lord, to have mercy on my poor soul.

Because damn if this isn’t the strongest motherfucking shit I have EVER smoked.

Oh, man. Good fucking Jesus. I feel like everything’s blinking!

(phone rings)

Aw, man! Fuck! I was concentrating on my high, god dammit!

(pick up phone)

Who is it?

Lawyer: Michael, it’s your lawyer.

Mr. Perry Mason man! How the fuck you doin’?

Lawyer: Michael, we’ve made a plea bargain. You’re going to have to go to jail.

Do I get to pass GO?

Lawyer: No, no, no. This is real, Michael. You’re actually going to jail. Your career may very well be over.

(processes)

(processes)

(processes)

Say what you really mean, man. Your whole legal shit is maing the left side of my head go numb. Where are my spicy fries?

Lawyer: Michael, I’m sorry. Sentencing is next week.

Next week?

Lawyer: Yes.

So I don’t have to deal with this shit until then?

Lawyer: Well, no. I guess not.

Well then, life is pretty good. You know what I just got into, Mr. Lawyer man?

Ant farms. They’re fucking crazy, man. Look at all those fucking ants. And it looks like a real farm! Hello? Hello?

Photo courtesy of the Onion.