Fuck Michael Vick. Fuck that slackjawed, retarded, beady-eyed bastard with a fucking chainsaw. How is getting paid millions to play football a chance to “prove he’s doing the right thing?” If you want to do the right thing, find a way to travel back in time and abort the motherfucker with a rusty coathanger; otherwise, let this useless piece of shit spend the rest of his life in anonymity, getting paid minimum wage to hose out kennels at the SPCA.

Ah, but he’s been “speaking across the country.” Well, I’m sure it’s enthralling to hear a subliterate fuckhead mumble about how much he’s suffered by spending a couple years away from the NFL enhancing his street cred, so don’t do what he did, kids, wink wink. I wonder if his entreaties to avoid torturing and killing dogs are as heartfelt and convincing as his lawyer-scripted “Durr, oh, uh, yeah, and, uh, I done found me some Jesus” lines from his press conference a couple years ago.

Oh well. With any luck, he’ll end up paralyzed from the eyes down from a crunching tackle on the first snap he takes, and he can spend many happy years being wheeled down to the dog park, where all the male dogs can walk by and lift their legs on him.

…adding, hell the fuck yeah.