Back in April, Michael Vick was scheduled to lobby Congress on Capitol Hill to fund after school programs. Unfortunately, due to a late arrival on a flight from Tampa, he missed his 8:35PM connecting flight in Atlanta, and then was a no-show for the 10:50PM flight he was subsequently booked on. Here now is what transpired between those two times to cause Vick to his miss his connection.

8:35PM
Oh, man.

Oh, man.

Oh, SHIT.

I am fucking stoned.

(gets off plane)

I mean, holy shit. I feel like a neon light. Somebody get hold of me, because I can pretty much feel all my blood vessels pulsing right now. I can’t tell if I like it or not.

Man, Getting stoned before getting on that plane was a motherfuckin’ mistake, man. Fucking pilot said that flight would be 45 fucking minutes. That wasn’t no 45 minutes, okay? That was 8 days. That’s a long time to be in the fucking air, man.

I think my contacts are stuck to my eyes. FUCK. Now I gotta get on another flight? Shit. I can’t take this shit. I better smoke up.

8:50PM
(walks into bathroom stall, smokes up)

Hooo!!!!! That feels… NICE. I’m gonna shit, just to complete to the doubleheader.

8:52PM
(plop)

Hooo!!!!! Double NICE!!!!!

9:00PM
Why is the toilet paper in this place only one ply? Fucking Scott Tissue. I may as well wipe my ass with an emery board.

What’s with these automatic faucets, man? There’s no water pressure in this shit. Look at this. Takes 5 hours just to rinse the soap off.

9:02PM
Air dryers? Fu-uck.

9:10PM
Oooh, California Pizza Kitchen!!!!!! MV7 is eating like a fucking kang tonight! Shrimp scampi pizza? That’s fucking crazy. I kinda want the Thai pizza. Or do I want the barbecue chicken pizza?

9:15PM
Thai, or barbecue chicken?

9:20PM
Thai, or barbecue chicken?

9:25PM
Thai, or barbecue chicken?

9:30PM
OOOH!!!! BLT Pizza!!!!

9:35PM
Thai, or barbecue chicken, or BLT?

9:40PM
Fuck it. I’m going to Pizza Hut.

9:50PM
Holy shit, this pizza is SOOOOOO good. Man, how come the only channel they got here is the CNN airport channel? I wanna see some fucking bullriding. Damn. Gotta see some bullriding. Let me go check that depressing airport bar where all the smokers have penned themselves in like caged dogs.

9:52PM
Well, why CAN’T you put on bullriding? You seriously telling me anyone in this city wants to see a Hawks game? The Hawks can scratch my balls, man. Man, fuck you. I’ll watch bullriding on my iPod.

9:55PM
Fucking iPod. You can do everything but recharge yourself.

10:00PM
Man, look at all these departing flights. There’s even one going to Sioux City. I didn’t even know people lived in Sioux City. I thought they called it a city as like a joke and shit. Ooooh, Paris! Damn, I’d like to go to Paris. I heard French whores are completely disaffected and will let you do anything. Seattle? Ain’t nothing but pasty fuckers there. Oh, man! MEXICO!!!!!!! I gotta go live in Mexico, man. They have hammocks. Hammocks are solid.

This wall of monitors is mesmerizing. I feel like a citizen of the world. There are people here from everywhere, man. It’s like a little mini-Earth of its own.

Holy shit, I just blew my own mind.

10:10PM
Guess I better go wait at the gate. What gate am I? E62? Where am I now? A49? Oh, SHIT.

10:15PM
I gotta get one of these moving walkways in my house. These things are incredible. I feel like I’m fast forwarding… THROUGH LIFE!

No wait! We need to install one in the new offense. Know how mobile I’d be cruisin’ past defenders on this bitch? God, we’re gonna go 16-0.

10:25PM
Man, this gate area’s crowded. I’m going to Hudson News.

10:26PM
Shit man, I gotta look at that Playboy’s Nudes. Is anyone around? I gotta wait for the shit to clear. Okay, I’m going in. They won’t notice if I tear the cellophane off.

Mmmmm, tits. Oh, yeah. Tits are my friend.

10:28PM
Man, where is Rolling Stone? All I see is Vanity Fair. Who the fuck reads that shit?

10:29PM
This gate area’s depressing. Where the fuck am I supposed to sit? These fucking old people put their bags all over the shit.

Christ, lady, control your fucking children! Can’t you see how miserable they’re making everyone? I’mma throw them out the jetway.

I wonder if that guy is done with that USA Today sports section.

Shit. He isn’t.

I can’t take this shit much longer.

10:35PM
OOOOH, an arcade!!!!!

10:40PM
Galaga, you are my BITCH.

11:15PM
(walks up to gate agent)

Hello, I’m Michael Vick. I believe I have a reservation for the 8:35 flight. I’m ready to board.

I’m sorry? It’s what time now?

Photo courtesy of The Onion.

Oh, God.

Oh, man.

Where am I?

Is this a party? Where’s the beer? No wait, hold up. I just need some water. I’m really dehydrated. Is there water here? Is that a cake?

That’s a nice cake. Man, I wanna stick my dick right in that cake. That would be a good cakeyfuck.

Pot is fucking great.

Is there any yogurt in here? Yogurt is fucking nice. Why is my arm bleeding? Fucking Mr. Home Depot don’t fix nothing right. Mustachioed asshole.

I think I need to just lay down and shit.

Oh, wow.

Hoo boy.

I feel so bloated.

Fuck me man, I am STONED. Woo! You ever get so stoned you get tunnel vision? My field of vision is the size of a fucking dime right now. Gotta get into this motherfuckin’ house. Where my keys?

(searches for keys, finds them in his pocket attached to an alligator bottle opener key chain)

Here they are! No wait, these are the keys to the house in Buckhead. Oh fuck.

Holy shit, I am wobbling.

Time to do some jimmyin’

(opens door with credit card)

Nice. Hey, Priscilla! I’m home, bitch! Where you at? Hey, why didn’t my alarm go off? And why is my fishbowl broken? And why is there furniture overturned in my living room? I never had furniture in my living room before. And where’s my 1000-carat diamond picture frame featuring me and Frank Beamer with Frank Beamer cropped out? And where did Marcus go? And how come there ain’t any Tyson’s Chicken nuggets in the freezer? And where’s that John Singer Sargent painting that my agent made me purchase?

Wait a second.

I know what this is.

I’m REALLY, REALLY fucking stoned!

Fuckin’ A. This is some good shit. One time I smoked up and saw a purple swan, but I ain’t ever seen shit like this. Unless I’m in the wrong house. I’m not in the wrong house, am I? Wait a second, I’m not that stoned. I smoked, like, six bowls. That ain’t shit.

Oh, man! I just came to a shocking realization!

MUTHAPHUCKKAS TOOK MY SHIT!!!!!!!

I’ve been robbed! Oh my God. I feel so violated, just like anyone who has to watch “Lil’ Bush”! Oh, I am fucking pissed. Nobody gets to violate me except for ME! I’mma fucking find whoever did this. Right after I watch this DVD of “House Party”. Public Enema? Who da hell wants a Public Enema! Ha ha ha! That shit cracks me up every time.

(goes into TV room and sees TV is missing)

Motherfucker! They took my TV! They even took the emergency TV in the study! NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!! The fuck am I supposed to stare blankly at now? Shit, they even took all the pictures of me off the game wall! I’m so fucking mad. I’mma catch these fuckers, unless I have to watch tape in order to do it.

And where the fuck are my floor buffers?! I can’t enjoy this pleasant buzz when my floors have a matte finish! That’s why I kept TWO buffers in the house! This is ruining my shit! GAH!!!!!!!!!

All right, Mike. Just calm down. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just the Feds digging around for clandestine canine burial grounds. No big deal. They’re just stupid fucking dogs. No one gives a shit about that except Inspector Todd.

How could they have gotten in? No one could possibly crack my security code of 1-2-3-4. It’s so clever in its obviousness! God dammit! Fuckin’ Slomin’s Shield don’t shield shit! I wonder who did this. Was it Greg Knapp? I bet it was Greg Knapp. Assistants don’t make SHIT. Fuck him. Fuck that Knappy-headed ho. Better call 911.

Oh snap, wait. If I call 911, they’ll know I was smokin’ pot earlier. And they’ll know about that hermit I killed and bricked into the basement. And they’ll find my stash. And the room full of illegal Cambodian immigrants. And my ketchup. And all those crude landmines I tried to make out of Tide and used toilet paper rolls. Can’t call the cops! Only one man I can call.

Arthur Blank: Hello?

Hello, Mr. Home Depot Man! You fix shit, right? You a handyman?

Arthur Blank: No, Michael. I’m the CEO.

Yeah, well I need to C-E YO ass down at my place in VA. And I need you to bring a wet/dry vac because someone stole the toilet and I’m gonna have to piss on my own damn marble floor.

Arthur Blank: Michael, have you been smoking marijuana?

What? Uh, NO! This isn’t Mike. This is, uh, Keith Brooking. I’m like, white and shit. You must have reached me in error, sooth gentleman.

Arthur Blank: Michael, I know it’s you. It says so right on my calle…

I have to adjourn to the drawing room now. Good day, kind sir!

(hangs up)

I’mma just have to buy a new house now. Fuck this cleaning shit.

Photo courtesy of The Onion.

Oh, man.

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.

Vick: Oh man, this is a long ass wait. Ma’am, how long have I been up in this bitch?

Receptionist: Three minutes, Mr. Vick.

Vick: Fuck me, man. You got any other magazines here besides “House Beautiful”?

Receptionist: No, Mr. Vick.

Vick: The fuck, man? I read “King”. Can I get another glass of water?

Receptionist: You’ve had six already.

Vick: I’m so thirsty. God, I’d love to just go swimming. You ever stick your donger in front of the water jet?

Receptionist: No.

Vick: It’s fucking great.

Receptionist: The Commissioner will see you now.

Vick: Nice. (walks into commissioner’s office) Whoa, this is fucking nice. I could sleep here.

Goodell: Hello, Michael.

Vick: This your office?

Goodell: Uh, yes.

Vick: I gotta ask Mr. Home Depot for an office like this. Is that a Geochron? Fucking sweet. I like Russia, because it’s really big.

Goodell: Michael, would you mind taking a seat?

Vick: Not at all, Mr. commissioner man.

Goodell: Michael, we’ve had some concerns about your recent conduct.

Vick: Are these Werther’s Originals?

Goodell: Uh… yes.

Vick: You mind if I have one?

Goodell: Sure, go right ahead.

Vick: These are great. You mind if I just throw the rest of them in my hat for later?

Goodell: Michael, our league office is extremely concerned about what’s been going on in your life. It’s hurting the league’s image.

Vick: Ah man, that’s some bullshit. Like what?

Goodell: Well, the cockfighting.

Vick: I already explained that shit. I don’t even live at that house. I’m never there. Unless there’s a cockfight going on. But it’s not like I ORGANIZE that shit. It’s very spontaneous and free-flowing.

Goodell: And the dog fighting?

Vick: Bob Barker told me to help control the pet population, sir. I take that shit seriously. Jack Russell terriers are fucking feisty!

Goodell: We’ve also heard reports of frequent marijuana use.

Vick: That’s just a flat lie. I would never smoke pot on weekdays. Do you wanna watch a DVD or something? This whole meeting is fucking up my chi.

Goodell: Okay, I’m not gonna dance around it anymore, Mr. Vick. You need to straighten out your act, or else you may find yourself suspended from play.

Vick: WHAT?! That’s horseshit! Can’t nobody do what I do!

Goodell: I know you can run very fast.

Vick: Goddamn right! AND I’ve done good shit, man! I went to Va. Tech when Data from “The Goonies” started going apeshit!

Goodell: We appreciate that, believe me.

Vick: And I went to DC to talk about kids and shit!

Goodell: I thought you missed the flight.

Vick: You ever fly fucking Delta? FUCK DELTA. The one time they aren’t late is the one time I am. I ain’t had nothing to do with that shit!

Goodell: Look, just be careful, okay? You’re an incredibly talented young man, and I’d hate to see you throw it all away.

Vick: You got it, Mr. Tagliabue.

Goodell: Goodell.

Vick: Oh yeah yeah. Forgot about that. It was so sad how that Tagliabue died of lupus and shit.

Goodell: He didn’t die.

Vick: Are you sure?

Goodell: Yes.

Vick: Fuck. Now I owe Marcus five bucks.

Photo courtesy of The Onion

Welcome to the latest installment of KSK’s newest series, Better Know a Draft Pick. We’ll lead up to April’s draft by giving you all the pertinent info you’ll need on the league’s newest disappointments-to-be.

Name: Adam Gaines Gaines Adams

Height: Tall
Body Type: Longer than the SG’s diary
Speed: Good enough

Urine Sample: Shwaggy
Stool Sample: Soft and lacking bulk

Criticisms: Soft and lacking bulk

Mainstream Comparison: Jevon Kearse
KSK Comparison: Simeon Rice – the douchebaggery

Who’s Interested: The camera guy in the green room

Who Will Take Him: The Vikings. He’s the one piece that could make all the difference between a two-win season and a three-win season.

Honors: People have been riding his jock for quite some time. His CSTV bio tells us that Gaines was named “…first-team preseason All-American according to Playboy, Lindy’s, and Phil Steele.” Now this is just a guess but I’d say that’s a nudie magazine, a strip club, and an aging porn star. Not too shabby.

Story ESPN Will Shove Down Your Throat: He admitted to smoking marijuana so now we get to hear all of their fucking analysts talk about weed more than yours truly. Fuck steroids, binge drinking, and unprotected sex with skanky co-eds–these Kottonmouth Kings are a bunch of midnight tokers! (multi-generational musical fun!)

Ambitions: Doin’ coke, drinkin’ beers. Drinkin’ beers, beers beers. Rollin’ fatties, smokin’ blunts. Who smokes the blunts? We smoke the blunts.
Fav Hangout: In between a convenience store and a video store

Fav Food: Whatever’s special
Biggest Fear: Evil Bong

Immediate Impact: Automaic insertion into the league’s substance abuse program will not stop him from knocking the shit out of quarterbacks in his rookie year (Goodell: HGH isn’t a substance if I can’t see it!).

Down the Road:

Pray for him.

(phone rings)

Vick: (startles awake) What?! What the fuck is that?!

(phone rings)

Vick: Is that the phone, or am I still trapped in that dream with the cannibal mafia hitman?

(phone rings)

Vick: Okay, I think it’s the phone. Fuck, man.

(phone rings)

Vick: (takes bong hit) Hello?

Blank: Hello, Michael?

Vick: Maybe…

Blank: Michael, it’s Arthur Blank.

Vick: Man, I told you motherfuckers I don’t want that Fios hi-speed internet shit!

Blank: No, Michael, it’s Mr. Blank. From the Falcons!

Vick: What? Oh hey, Mr. Owner-man! The one with the mustache! How the fuck you doin’?

Blank: Listen Michael, I just wanted to let you know that we tra…

Vick: You the motherfucker that own Home Depot, right?

Blank: Yes.

Vick: Why can’t I ever find a motherfucker to help my ass in that goddamn store?

Blank: Well, we try and lay out the store so that it’s user-friendly.

Vick: Fuck that. And how come I need anchors when I screw shit in the drywall? I’m just trying to put in a shelf, and it turns into some 8-hour project and shit. My fishbowl keeps sliding off it now, man. Fuck.

Blank: Well, the anchors keep the drywall from coming loose.

Vick: Well, how come I don’t need an anchor for screwing into wood?

Blank: Because it’s stronger.

Vick: Then why don’t they just make the whole wall outta wood? Riddle me that!

Blank: Because it would warp. It’s just not a good idea.

Vick: (takes bong hit) That’s fucked up.

Blank: Anyway, Michael, I wanted to let you know that we traded Matt Schaub.

Vick: Who the fuck is that?

Blank: Our backup QB.

Vick: You mean the white boy?

Blank: Yes.

Vick: Damn. That motherfucker was good. Like really good.

Blank: Anyway, Michael, I thought you’d be pleased to hear the news. There’s no ambiguity about where you stand now.

Vick: Ambiguity? You calling me a fag?

Blank: No, I’m saying YOU ARE THE MAN NOW.

Vick: Yeah man, but white boy knew the motherfuckin’ playbook, man. He’s the one who watched film and went to meetings for me. He had good notes, man. Who the fuck am I gonna crib shit from now? What did you trade him for?

Blank: Two second rounders.

Vick: Two second rounders?! Motherfucker, you crazy? I just smoked a bowl laced with Liquid Plumr, and even I wouldn’t trade the bitch for that little. Why don’t you just trade him for a Slush Puppy while you’re at it?

Blank: I thought you’d be happy.

Vick: I just… I just don’t need this kinda pressure in my life right now, man. Everybody’s looking AT ME, man. Why can’t we all just slow the fuck down for a second and consider things like, tall wavy grass and shit?

Blank: Maybe this isn’t the best time to talk.

Vick: And how come they don’t serve burgers at the Home Depot? I’m moving lumber and shit. I get fucking hungry, man!

Blank: I think I’ll call back later.

Vick: It burns when you snort vodka. Wait… are you still on the line?

Blank: Yes.

Vick: Is this Marcus?

Blank: No Michael, it’s Arthur Blank.

Vick: Marcus, I think I just hallucinated. Schauby was in Texas and my chicken sandwich stood up on its hind legs.

(Mr. Blank hangs up.)

Vick: Hello? Fuck, Marcus, are you impersonating a dial tone again? Ha ha ha! Holy fuck, I am stoned. I’m not sure I can move. I feel like drinking an entire bottle of Caesar salad dressing. What’s that buzzing sound?!

Photo, as always, courtesy of the Onion. Oh, and nice job not trading for Matt Schaub, Minnesota Vikings. You fucking impotent assholes.

Oh my God.

Oh my God.

Oh my God, I am fucking STONED. What? Where are we? What? Oh man, look at the store directory! All the stores on the first concourse are green, man! They’re fucking green! And all the stores on the second concourse are red! That’s fucked up, man. Where are we? Nordstrom’s? What is that? That smells like old people, man. I can smell the old people from here.

Wait, wait. Never mind. That’s grandma. She’s standing right there. Sorry, grandma. I just so fucking stoned right now. The walls are getting all jiggly!

Where’s the food court? Nah, man. I want some Panda Express. They serve you everything in one bigass bowl. I love that. All food should come in a single bowl. It’s like family style. For one. I am my own family. So true, man. So fucking true.

Is that a Chico’s? I don’t fucking get it, bro. There’s a Chico’s in every fucking mall, and no one’s ever in it. Where is Chico getting all the money? I bet he’s dealing. I bet Chico can get some nasty, fucked up shit that makes the horizon all jagged and shit.

It’s so bright in here, man. Where’s the fucking Sunglass Hut? What? It’s a kiosk and not a hut? That’s fucked up.

Man, there are eight million jewelers in here. Who keeps buying girls all these diamonds? How many tennis bracelets do you need?

Wait, wait, wait. Ha ha HA! I am fucking STONED, grandma. This must be the same feeling you get when you sit on your porch and drink Country Time. It is NICE. You know what I do when I’m really, really fucked up? I go to Bath & Body Works and I smell all the candles. They have a S’Mores candle, and I swear to God it smells EXACTLY like S’Mores. One time I took a bite out of one. It did NOT taste like S’Mores. But look how shiny my teeth are!

I think I have to throw up.

You ever just, like, sit in a Pottery Barn? It’s so tranquil. Oh, oh! You know what I like to do! I like to go to Brooks Brothers, and then have them fit me for a suit. They take you in the back, and they put you on this little pedestal, and then they, like measure you and shit. And it’s those old Italian fuckers that do it. Not fake Italians, like that fuck Tony Danza. Real little Italian men. Like they were just flown in. It’s so fucking classy.

I don’t get it. Sometimes, B. Dalton has porn and sometimes it doesn’t. Holy shit, I’m losing my balance. I think this weed had pesticide on it. There’s no way someone paid $15 million to Daniel fucking Graham. Everyone’s fucked up!

Gap, man. What the fuck? Who needs that much khaki? It’s khaki overload, bro. Even Peyton Manning doesn’t need that much. Dude, Brookstone and Sharper Image are the same goddamn store. And why is that Suncoast pictures still around? Is there any fucking point to that store?

Whoa, I am locked in on that strobe light. I am locked in on it and am now orbiting it. It’s totally sucked me in. You guys go on without me. This may be a while. I am totally in its grasp.

Whoa. That was amazing. I am FUCKED UP. Let’s go to Williams Sonoma. I want to buy a tin of peppermint bark for $40. Did you know you can return anything to LL Bean and they’ll just take it back? I returned a box of wine there once, and I didn’t even get it there! Amazing.

Why does Marcus want to go to Urban Outfitters? Pfft. Ain’t nothing urban about that store. Champs Sports, now THAT is fucking urban, man. White people stay away from that place in droves.

(small angelic choir begins singing in Vick’s head)

Holy shit, the FOOD COURT! Nice. I’mma have a Mrs. Fields cookie before I do anything. They got a cookie pizza! Oh my God, I want a slice. Semi-sweet WITH motherfuckin’ nuts. Let’s go to Taco Bell and drink Fire Sauce right from the packet. And get a small drink. Not a large. They give you free fucking refills, man. A small IS a large. They’re the same. I just blew my own mind. I want Sbarro AND Steak Escape. Is that allowed?

God, this food tastes so fucking good. I’m gonna sleep here.

Photo, as always, courtesy of The Onion.