Despite their criminal track record being the TOPS since 2000, the Minnesota Vikings have actively been trying to dissuade their players (particularly rookies … Get ’em while they’re young!) from finding themselves in troublesome situations. Whether that’s encouraging them not to be out late at a bar in Houston, suggesting they don’t choke their significant others, or even bringing strip club owners in to warn of the dangers of being a professional athlete, the Vikings will spare no expense. As was the case earlier this offseason when strip club owner Sean Bishop was brought in to tell these young players how horrible it is for NFLers to get caught up in bad situations …
“Listen up, you stupid little punks, I DON’T NEED YOUR MONEY. I don’t need it. Oh, sure, you signed your big rookie contract, you’re hot shit now, aren’t you, making lots of cash, money flowing out of your pockets, buying anything you want … Well guess what. IT DOESN’T MATTER. You come to my strip club and I’ve seen idiots like your ugly face spend that money up in ONE NIGHT, totally disregarding your family and shitting all over your future. IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?! Do you want 19 year old girls rubbing their firm breasts against your face, smelling like jasmine and lilacs? BECAUSE THAT WILL RUIN YOUR LIFE!
“Oh, sure. I know what you newcomers are thinking. You all think you’re hot shit. That you won’t fall to tricks of the flesh. That strip clubs are the place to be, dawg! Hot young ladies, barely with any hair on their crotches, whispering how much they LOOOOVVVE professional athletes in your ear. You think you’re the first NFL guy they’ve ever seen? GET OUT. I personally guarantee you that a mister Fred Smoot has left millions of abandoned love children in the belly of each and every stripper you ever meet, ANYWHERE. Two thirds of the world is covered by water, the rest you know what they saw about Smoot. Your best bet? STAY AWAY.
“Don’t try dating strippers, don’t make friends with club owners, don’t exchange tickets for blow jobs. I’ve seen it happen. It’s terrible. No matter how much you think you are in love with that girl, you’re not. It’s no good. Getting boozed up every night for free … having the WILDEST sex you could ever imagine, threesomes, foursomes, animals … Feeling some of the world’s most attractive women from the inside … Living the life of a king … It’s terrible! I promise you! I wouldn’t make this up!
“Just trust me on this, OK? Lap dances ain’t no fun. Slappin’ asses ain’t no fun. Getting a stripper so drunk she let’s you bust one off in her lazy eye is a TERRIBLE way to live your life. And they gonna be gunnin’ for you, too. Believe me. You’re like a giant blinking neon sign in a dingy, depressing, hell hole of society’s corner street bar. You got money, youth, ignorance, and are likely willing to tear through more ass than a PRIDE parade. Don’t. Save your money, wear turtleneck sweaters, buy an affordable and reliable domestic car, and eat plain toast for breakfast every morning. It works for Brad Childress, and he seems to be doing OK. Don’t you want to be like Brad Childress?
“But really … If you get yourself in trouble some night, just give me a call. I’ll pick you up on my ride.”
Psst! Satire! Mr. Bishop never said this, at least verbatim.
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