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!

Oh, man.

Oh, shit.

Oh, hot spatula.

Oh, motherfucker, I AM HIGH! I am so high, I’m just like… FUCK! You know? That high. I’m so high, I feel like… unnnnghhhhh! THAT IS WHAT THE FUCK I’M TALKING ABOUT!

Goddamn, I am high.

This is great. Life is good, I’m high as shit, and Michael Vick is back to doing what Michael Vick does best. Can’t nobody do what Mike Vick does. Can’t nobody run and throw like this. Can’t nobody throw himself a birthday party and then get the fuck out of there 40 minutes before that corny motherfucker Quanis comes to the door. YOU TELL ME KEVIN KOLB HAS THE KIND OF ESCAPABILITY! He ain’t shit!

(knock on the door)

What the…? I wasn’t expecting anyone, except for the deliverymen from Qdoba, Pizza Hut, Moe’s, Domino’s, and Len’s Crab Shack. Who the fuck is it?

(door flies open)

Quan Lo: DIDDY MAO!

Vick: Oh, shit! Quan Lo! The legendary Chinese underground dogfighting bookie!

Quan Lo: DIDDY MAO!

Vick: Nah, man. No way! You got me all wrong! Ookie doesn’t do that sort of thing anymore! This is a new Michael Vick! He’s socially responsible! He’s kind and generous to others! He’s mildly accurate and no longer relies on Alge Crumpler to pad his passer rating! THINGS HAVE CHANGED!

Quan Lo: DIDDY MAO!

Vick: Yes, I know I owe your ass a few million, give or take. But don’t you worry, Quan Lo. Michael Vick good for it. Al Davis has already offered $40 million guaranteed, plus all the soft tacos I can eat. 2011 WILL BE THE YEAR OF THE VICKENING!

Quan Lo: DIDDY MAO!

Vick: What do you mean, interest?

Quan Lo: DIDDY MAO!

Vick: FUCK THAT NOISE!

Quan Lo: DIDDY MAO!

Vick: Oh, well I guess that makes sense.

Quan Lo: DIDDY MAO!

Vick: No. No way. My days of fighting dogs are over! You can’t drag me back into that seedy netherworld again.

Quan Lo: DIDDY MAO!

Vick: No way. No fighting cats either!

Quan Lo: DIDDY MAO!

Vick: Ain’t fighting no wild boars!

Quan Lo: DIDDY MAO!

Vick: Ain’t fighting no unicorns and pegasuses neither! My days of cruelty to animals is long gone. Although I must say, I did feel really good to put some of those dogs down. I mean, they’re so dumb! You hit them and they keep coming back and you hit them again and they keep coming back. THEY JUST KEEP DOING THE SAME SHIT OVER AND OVER AGAIN! THAT’S SO FUNNY! Kinda makes me want to kill one again. BUT NO! I WON’T DO IT!

Quan Lo: DIDDY MAO!

Vick: What do you mean, Evil Overlord?

Quan Lo: DIDDY MAO!

Vick: No. No, no. No, it can’t be.

(door flies open)

Tony Dungy: Hello, Michael.

Vick: Coach Dungy!

Dungy: I see you’ve had quite the resurrection of late. Pity the same can’t be said for all those poor, poor dogs you helped kill.

Vick: What do you want from me? And why hasn’t the man from Qdoba showed up yet?

Dungy: There will be plenty of time for burritos, Michael. But for now, we must have a chat. You see, I do believe it was I who helped you sign with the Eagles. Was it not?

Vick: Shit, I dunno. I guess.

Dungy: And since I did you that favor, I think you should do a favor for me. Is that not fair?

Vick: YEAH BUT I WAS HIGH!

Dungy: Shhhh. Shhhh. Quiet, my boy. You remember when I asked you to help me fight gays, do you not?

Vick: A little bit.

Dungy: Michael, I’m afraid that, since we last spoke, the problem of American gayness has become even more widespread, what with “Modern Family” winning the Emmys and all. Gayness has seeped into every facet of our culture. And worse yet, we’ve LET IT HAPPEN. And do you know what happens when we have gay people, Michael?

Vick: Troy Aikman gets a job?

Dungy: No. We have GAY ANIMALS. Look!

Vick: Oh, man. That is one gay motherfucking dog.

Dungy: THIS is what is turning up in America’s kennels now. Gay dogs, littering the streets. Copulating with each other in the buttocks. Infecting our children with gay. Do you want to ignore this problem, or do you want to help me solve it?

Vick: Man, I don’t want any part of this! I JUST WANNA BE MIKE VICK! I wanna run free! And use lots of Chap Stick! And give a bitch herpes! Just like normal people do! I don’t want this anymore!

Dungy: I’m afraid you have no choice. You will fight these gay dogs in an arena of combat. Or else…

Quan Lo: (draws gun) DIDDY MAO!

Dungy: What he said.

Vick: What if, like, I could get the dogs to STOP being fag dogs? Would that work? If I could get them back on that there Tuna Chow and shit?

Dungy: Possibly. Although once the sinner has sinned, never shall he be redeemed.

Vick: Just gimme a week to ungay these dogs!

Dungy: Very well. YOU HAVE ONE WEEK.

(They leave)

Vick: Okay, Foofie. I know normally you don’t get along with pussy, but I’mma need your help.

Dog: Bow wow wowwww!

Vick: Shit. This ain’t gonna be easy.

Oh, man. Oh, Lord. Oh, SHIZZAY. I didn’t shoot my boy Quanis over cake! That’s untrue! I was just trying to LIGHT that cake! If you got a better idea to light a cake than using a .357, I’d like to hear it. BITCHES.

Oh, man. I am HIGH. Let’s see Kevin Kolb get this high.

You got your Schedule Release Day in my 420. The NFL is finally ready to release their precious schedule, and they’ll do so tonight at 7 pm EST on their website. Peter King is positively nonplussed, but those of us who aren’t assholes have a right to be excited. While I don’t plan on going home to sit in front of the computer hitting refresh, I do look forward to running down the Redskins schedule assigning wins and losses without stopping to think. Of course today is also 4/20, so if you project your favorite team to finish 11-27 you might want to revisit it tomorrow when you’re a bit more clear-headed.

Jared Allen sounds pretty serious, homeboy. Listen, if you’re going to call Jared Allen’s fiance a cunt he’s going to threaten to break your neck. Hey man, that’s assault. SUSPEND THE ANIMAL BEFORE HE THREATENS TO STRIKE AGAIN! [With Leather via TMZ, who felt it necessary to mention that Allen is an avid hunter, which seems totally relevant]

McNabb and TO to reunite QUESTION MARK Donovan McNabb reportedly told coaches he’d be interested in seeing the Redskins pursue Terrell Owens. Or something like that. Hey Donovan, you’ve been here for about five minutes. How about keeping your fucking mouth shut around Werder and Paolantonio? Especially on the topic of personnel. We already have one putz in the GM’s ear, and that’s more than enough. [ESPN]

Sheep pig? SHEEP PIG!

Update: The Steelers were prepared to cut Holmes outright, so they’re probably happy to have gotten anything.

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.

Oh, SHIT brother.

I am HIGH! And I’m an Eagle! God damn! How’d that happen?

Dungy: That was my doing, young man.

Vick: Oh, SHIT! Ming the Merciless! Step off, you creepy shit!

Dungy: No, Michael. It’s me. Coach Dungy.

Vick: Oh, Mr. Quiet Strength Man! How the fuck you doing? You wanna watch Gladiator with me? Fucking Gladiator and weed is DANGEROUS, like me running the ball on 3rd and 34.

Dungy: No, Michael. I’m here to support you in your rehabilitation. It was I who helped broker your deal here in Philly. It was I who convinced Mr. Lurie and Coach Reid that you were fit to play again. That you were a changed man.

Vick: Really? Why? Why’d you do that? And how’d I get so fucking HIGH? Look at my hands, man. Look at them. They’re so handsy.

Dungy: Michael, I did this because I believe in grace and forgiveness. I believe that saving wayward souls is good for the world. I believe we all have good in us, it simply needs to be brought out. But, most importantly, I need your help. Come with me.

(escorts Vick to his basement)

Come closer. I want to show you something.

Vick: THE FUCK IS THAT?!

Dungy: This is Lance. He’s the fiercest gay I’ve ever bred.

Lance: GRRRRRR!

Dungy: But I can’t seem to translate that same ferocity into the ring. I need YOU, Michael. I need your keen training skills.

Vick: Oh man, that is FUCKED UP.

Dungy: SILENCE!

(slaps Vick)

Vick: Ouch!

Dungy: You will help me train this gay to fight.

Vick: What if he doesn’t want to fight?

Dungy: Then we drown him. That’s the best part!

Vick: How long have you been doing this?

Dungy: I’ve been staging catfights for a long time now. It’s part of the culture where I come from. I mean really, they’re just gays. I don’t know why anyone would be so upset. This helps control the gay population!

Vick: Good fucking gobblers.

Dungy: Last year, Fag Newz Kennels made over $200,000 in winnings. I plan on doubling that amount this year. I need to find gays that have real gameness, like Lance here. And I need you to train them in the black brick building I have hidden on my property. And if you don’t help me, I WILL SIC MY FERAL GAYS ON YOU. Now come with me. I need to show you the rape stand.

Lance: GRRRRRR!

Vick: (throws up)

Oh, man.

Oh, Lord.

Oh, SHIT.

I am goddamn HIGH!

Hoof!

And I’m free! Ain’t nothin’ like being high and staring at the sun! Hi sun! How the fuck you doin’?

DAMN, THAT’S BRIGHT!

Well, thank God that shit’s over with. Now, I can finally get back to bein’ the Michael Vick everyone knows and loves. The one that makes Roddy White worthless for fantasy purposes! Lemme just get out the ol’ to-do list here. Let’s see what MV7 has got to do.

1. Get HIGH
2. Get Mr. Home Depot Man to loan Michael $50 million
3. Fight dogs!
3. Fight, like, things besides dogs and shit
4. Buy parrot
5. See if parrots can fight, because if they can fight AND be trash talkin’, that’d be some shit
6. Hire quarterback tutor, improve running motion and stutter step
7. See what this Twitter shit all about
8. Get the dick wet
9. Eat more Chap Stik
10. Meet with commish! 7/23, 11:00AM

Hmm. 7/23. 11:00AM. Why does that time and date seem familiar to me?

/looks at clock

OH SNAP! THAT’S NOW!

/runs to commish’s office, dodges multiple cars, tries throwing burrito wrapper into trash can and hits a lamp post

Commish: Hello, Michael.

MV7: Hello, Mr. Commissioner Man. Sorry I am late. I am deeply regretful. I know I have hurt many people with my lateness. I promise that I will never be late again.

Commish: Oh well, jolly good. Sit down.

MV7: You got it.

Commish: Now Michael, before I fully reinstate you, I wanted to meet with you face to face.

MV7: Well, here’s my face!

Commish: As you know, you’ve lied to me here in the past. So this is a chance for you to be honest with me. Fresh start. Do you think you’ve been rehabilitated?

MV7: Rehabilitated? Well, now let me see. You know, I don’t have any idea what that means. There’s not a day goes by I don’t feel regret. Not because I’m in here, or because you think I should. I look back on the way I was then: a young, stupid kid who committed that terrible crime. I want to talk to him. I want to try and talk some sense to him, tell him the way things are. But I can’t. That kid’s long gone and this old man is all that’s left. I got to live with that. Rehabilitated? It’s just a hot dog.

Commish: A hot dog?

MV7: SHIT! I meant to say that I don’t give a shit.

Commish: You don’t give a shit?

MV7: No, wait! God dammit! See, this is why Morgan Freeman is so clutch. Listen, Mr. Commissioner Man, I know what I did was wrong. Fighting dogs is wrong. I was wrong. That was wrong. I feel wrong. I’ve committed a great wrong. There is much wrongness is what I’ve done. If I could erase the wrongocity of my actions, I would. I feel very wrongly about this. WRONG.

Commish: What’s this about you and Allen Iverson patronizing a strip club?

MV7: Oh, that ain’t nothin’ but some bitches.

Commish: What?

MV7: I mean, that was wrongful.

Commish: Okay, Michael. You’ve made your case. Not all that eloquently, but I know you spoke from the heart. So I am compelled to grant you conditional reinstatement.

MV7: FUCK YEAH! I’M BACK, BITCH! CAN’T NOBODY DO WHAT I DO! WAIT TILL GREG KNAPP GETS A LOAD OF MY ASS FAKE! (wiggles ass) I LEARNED THAT IN JAIL! AIN’T NO DICK CATCH THIS ASS!

Commish: Provided you present yourself with humility and grace.

MV7: Oh. Yes. I will do that and shit. You got my word, Sizzurp.

Commish: Okay, you can go.

MV7: Oh, you won’t regret this, Mr. Commissioner Man. MV7 IS READY TO SHINE ONCE AGAIN! HE’S GONNA TAKE THAT FIELD LIKE A CRAZED DOG!

Commish: A what?

MV7: LIKE A CRAZED GUINEA PIG! G-FORCE AND SHIT!

Photo via The Onion

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?

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

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