All right. Y’all have had your fun. Now please, leave me be until the sentencing date. I’m dog tired.
So to speak.
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“I’m dog tired.
So to speak.”
So, a nice drink of Jack Spaniels, and I’m off to bed.
Oh, oh. Ouch.
Lord have Mercy, dude.
Dan Collins would not even write that one ;-)
Vick really screwed the pooch this time.
“…and you get up with fleas.”
The secret space in my ring I fill with an Underdog secret energy pill.
Oops. SUPER energy pill.
I guess Vick’s cry is, “Never fear, I’m locked up in here!” and, “Down, down and interred!”
I wonder what Sweet Polly Purebread had to say about that energy pill…
Yeah, life’s a bitch, aint it? (so to speak…)
Sometimes, you just can’t go over the top enough.
“#Comment by Dan Collins on 8/29 @ 12:22 pm #
Oops. SUPER energy pill.”
The big blue one?
Except on the days when he chose the red one…
Or, as David Letterman once said, “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth overdoing.”
The red ones behind the sofa cushions, that is.
See, if I was that funny, I could write shorter posts.
So I guess Vick doesn’t have to worry about being anybody’s bitch until about January.
Hellooooooooo Bubba!
Ah, well, August has always been the Dog Days. It’s almost over for this year.
Regards,
Ric
Next time you hear someone complain about the possible sentence Vick faces and how unfair it is, trot out this one.
Doggone it, Steve, I’m not registering for the LA Slimes swill trough.
Ugh, Jeff. This post is, ahem, ruff.
Yeah, that’s right; I went there.
Guy got six months jail sentence for reconstructing a fence without a permit. The fence barely encroaches onto a bridle path easement (horses can pass the 30 or so yards it runs, maintenance vehicles cannot.
Nicole Ritchey who is black by the way got 82 minutes
I considered spelling it “Dawg tired”, JW, but I didn’t want Michael to come across as being too “street.”
Nope. Don’t think it’s possible to outdo the imagery of St. Francis beating him with a spiked collar.
Michael Vick is a postmodern, pre-civilization refraction. If man is, and has always been, in conflict with nature, and if one’s hierarchy of needs can be infinitely extended, then-then.
In a game of flag football in the prison yard, who gets picked first, you or Michael Vick? Un-repressing your jealousy will not help you in the open field as your ankles predictably tangle in the straps of your jock upon attempting to snag his flag. And if you haven’t heard 4.3 foot-speed is a non-coachable gift from God, you will soon learn. $130 million over six years, that’s what that’s worth. I-myself would place the heads of six fattened bulldogs on pikes for a fraction of that amount, and, dare I predict, so would every right thinking man.
Having only today retrieved my most formal #7 jersey from the dry cleaners I can honestly admit my affections for my favorite 4.3 blur wearing red and black remains undeterred; dogged is such a love.
thor – Ron Mexico lives on in infamy !!!
A man who has lost his humanity–by defiinition–is not a man at all.
I don’t have a dog in this fight.
Bill Scheft — “I’d like to meet the guy who taught Vick’s cronies to roll over”.
Your Mommy has a pit bull? Some women will do anything to score a date with Michael Vick. I’m suggesting your Mom is one of those women, mind you.
That I’m not sharing a bunk with Mr. Vick makes me feel lucky. Very, very lucky. Luckier than a dog with two dicks.
“And if you haven’t heard 4.3 foot-speed is a non-coachable gift from God…”
Vick was obviously uncoachable, I will agree with that, not sure about the gift from God bit.
In prison, it won’t matter if he has 2.3 speed. He won’t go far.
There’s speed and there’s distance. You’ve confused the two.
Ron Mexico will be the bitch soon, doggy style.
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