One of the odd things about Michael Vick’s signing last week was the continued presence of former Colts coach Tony Dungy by Vick’s side as both mentor and advocate. Why is Dungy so interested in Vick? Well, we at KSK recently found a tape of the two men meeting privately that explains a great deal. Here now is the transcript.
Vick: Oh, man.
Oh, Lord.
Rival minor holidays share space on this dreary Monday, what with stoners and Massholes (there’s room for some overlap, that would at least serve to explain the team logo hodgepodge tattoo) each having relative moments of significance to observe. Is it 26 feet of subs or 26.2 miles of arduous running. The choice is clear. WHO YA GOT?
4/20______________________Patriots’ Day
Meaning
A symbol of marijuana culture supposedly marking a ritual some high school students had for getting high in the ’70s_________________Anniversary of the Battles of Lexington and Concord
Proponents
Like half the country, but really Ookie and Santonio________________Dickbag Bahstonians
Preferred narcotic
An icky noted for stickiness__________________A dozen fackin Twisted Teas
Events marking the day
High Times beauty pageant, lots of Crank 2 screenings_____________________Boston Marathon
Finishing Move
Writing impassioned jeremiads about Comic Sans___Transferring supposed lifetime allegiance from foundering Celtics to Bruins
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…
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.
Anyways, let’s get on to the bet of the year…
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.
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.
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.
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
