Robert Griffin III grabs his head.
RG3: Man, this sucks. I gotta find a way not to get hurt all the time.
After a second of thinking (which hurts him more), he grabs the phone and dials a few numbers.
Michael Vick is sitting on a couch, petting his dog lovingly.
Michael Vick: Who’s the best dog in the world? It’s you, isn’t it? Yes it is! You’re the best, and you’d probably be the best fighting dog ever but we won’t find out because America has a stick up their ass! Yes they do!
The phone suddenly rings. As Vick reaches for it, the dog leaps out of his lap and runs away as if it were on fire. Fire via electrocution.
Vick: You got Vick.
RG3: What’s up, it’s your boy RG3.
Vick: What’s going on Griff?
RG3: Just kinda lying here, holding my head. It hurts a bit.
Vick: Yeah, that happens to me a lot too.
RG3: I know, that’s why I’m calling. How do you deal with all this pain and still play the explosive style that you play?
Vick: I don’t know man. I used to smoke a lot of weed, that might help you.
RG3: Nah, dude, I don’t wanna lose my Subway scholarship.
Vick: Yeah, right. If Suh didn’t lose it from Stone Colding some fatass lineman I don’t think you’re gonna lose it for hittin a j before a game.
RG3: Man, I just want to know how I can be a playmaker without getting myself hurt.
RG3: Hold on, man, I got another call.
He switches over.
Cam Newton: Are you talking to that pussy Mike Vick about not getting hurt?
RG3: How did you…
Newton: Fuck Dwight and Shaq, I’m Superman, bitch!
RG3: You’re really rude.
Newton: Yeah but I got a Magic Johnson smile so it’s okay. Anyway, don’t take advice from Vick. He’s probably gonna make you smoke weed or some shit.
RG3: Actually he…
Newton: I won’t let you finish that sentence because it’s probably boring. ANYWAY. Listen to me. You can’t be afraid to take a hit and get hurt. You just have to throw your body out there, it’s the only way to win. Look at me, I bang with the best and I’m fine.
RG3: You’re also 30 pounds heavier than me. Plus we have more wins than you.
Newton: Ain’t my fuckin’ fault. You see me sulking on the sidelines? That’s because I want everyone to know THE PANTHERS SUCK BUT I DON’T. Now you’re either gonna be a dynamic playmaker like me or a dog killer like Vick. What’s it gonna be?
RG3: That hardly sounds fair.
Newton: Sure it is, it’s not like there are any other options.
RG3: Hold on.
Tom Brady: No other options? Yeah, maybe for dummy quarterbacks.
RG3: Oh, hello Mr. Tom Brady.
Brady: I like that you’re treating me with respect, kid. Just for that I’ll give you advice. DON’T MOVE OUT OF THE POCKET. It’s suicide. Just let your offensive line block for you for 11 seconds or more as you carefully contemplate which white guy you’re going to throw it to.
RG3: My line isn’t that good, and we don’t have any white skill players.
RG3: But I can’t just play like you, man. Or those other guys. I have my own skill set and my own team around me. I need to find a way to make my offense work to fit my strengths, and our team will start winning because of that.
RG3: Ugh, hold on.
Mike Shanahan: FAT CHANCE, ASSHOLE!
RG3: Hey, coach.
Shanahan: You want to be like another quarterback? We’re gonna have you hand off every down. You’ll be just like Rex Grossman. How does that sound, you fragile bitch?
Griffin looks at the phone, then speaks into it.
Vick: Hey, man, you need weed yet?