The 700-plus members of the Church of BilBel, who believed New England Patriots head coach Bill Belichick was a prophet of mind-boggling intelligence sent from a distant planet to control and eventually colonize earth’s population through the pulpit of run-blitz football, have been shocked into disarray after the Pat’s 38-34 loss in the AFC championship game to the Indianapolis Colts. The Church of BilBel followers, also known as Patriologists, were visibly crushed when Belichick failed to beat the Colts; they then just wandered zombie-like out of the RCA Dome and onto the cold rural roads outside Indianapolis, tossing aside rubber Nike Prayer bracelets and openly weeping. The followers could easily be spotted in their near-identical Russell Factory Outlet ill-fitting drab grey 50%cotton-50% polyester scissored-sleeve torn-v-neck sweatshirts and Motorola headphones. Many believed Belichick would lead true believers onto the Madden Bus before a football riot Armegeddon predicted for 2009 and that the bus would transport them to the planet Surly near the Van Allen Belt.

Earth to Atlanta Falcons quarterback Michael Vick: Hiding your pot in a water bottle is like hiding your handgun on a chain around your neck. Why not just go through security with a bong strapped to your ears like a feed bag? Sure, the TSA agents are mostly people who have been laid off by Bevmo!, but that just means they cannot afford to lose another job and they’re just itchin’ to nail their own Pablo Escobar. Oh, we would NEVER racially profile in this country so help us God, but I’m pretty sure a black guy in cornrows raises more red flags than Castro’s funeral. Vick’s got to smoke pot of course, to forget the constant pain and gnawing anguish of a bleak, grey life in the NFL with no real hope of clawing his way out of that hellhole and into a tolerable existence. But dude – you’re at the airport with cornrows, glassy eyes, a dopey smile and a bag of Funyons – if you’re not in the Wu Tang Clan, you’re gettin’ pulled over to the Wanding Zone where Carl feels you up while you read a wall chart of airport felonies and their probable prison terms. Next time Mikey, on your way to the G Concourse, just guzzle some NyQuil and ditch the bottle at Buddy Squirrel’s Nut Shop!