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'Pen pals' Vick, Favre share bond


Brett Favre and Michael Vick are spiritual cell mates of sorts -- both iconic quarterbacks are out of the NFL and both want back in. While in prison, Vick became pen pals with Favre and they have continued to correspond. Here now are excerpts of the most recent Favre-Vick letters:

Dear Michael:

As far as I know, I'm retired. (Not!) No, seriously, bro, I'm just down here watching Oprah, cutting grass, mending fences. I spend more time at Home Depot than Bob Vila. Call me if you want to play catch.

Dear Brett:

They got me under house arrest here in Hampton for two months; all I can say is: Thank God for Tyler Perry's House of Payne. TBS, man, very funny. Anyway, they fitted me with an electronic monitor -- I think the government's making me wear it, but it might be my fiancée Kijafa's doing.

Dear Michael:

Looked in the mirror today and said to myself, "You are retired." (Not!) Sure, I have a partially torn biceps muscle, but like I was telling my agent, Bus Cook -- I can throw spectacular interceptions with or without a good arm. Hell, it's not as if lives are at stake, I'm just putting some fans in the stands; hopefully, they're all wearing Wranglers.

Dear Brett:

People wonder if I still got pep in my step. I got a one-word answer for that: Sure do! Heck, Martha Stewart came out of prison better than ever, so did O.J. Simpson and Nelson Mandela. I'm under 30 and my legs are fresh -- at Leavenworth, I had a desk job in the prison laundry. Hey, I can still run from here to the bank; by the way, can you help me with endorsements?

Dear Michael:

I just told Bus -- you keep telling them I'm fishin' in Mississippi, I'll keep driving the jeep to the Twin Cities.

Dear Brett:

For show, I'm starting a $10-an-hour construction job next week. This one I'm mailing in -- they'd have to add a zero to that hourly wage before Michael Vick does any heavy lifting.

Dear Michael:

Didn't we have a ball in that Packers-Falcons playoff game Jan. 4, 2003? Well, you had a ball -- you owe me one, buddy.

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Dear Brett:

The commissioner says I have to show remorse. What, the NFL moved its offices from New York City to Vatican City? I did some bad [expletive] with dogs, but there are a whole lot of players in this league that do some bad [expletive] with people every single week. How come they don't have to go kiss Roger Goodell's royal butt?

Dear Michael:

My throwing shoulder's getting worse, but the bottom line is -- Deanna wants me OUT OF THE HOUSE. Trust me, bro: I could be in a full body cast come September and I will still be in a Vikings uniform, chucking it. P.S. I hate to sound cold, but if I'm Tarvaris Jackson or Sage Rosenfels, I'd be practicing how to hold a clipboard.

Dear Brett:

You know, I was in the joint for only 18 months, and when I get out, Madden andJay Leno are gone? Dang.

Dear Michael:

You just reminded me -- I wonder if it's too late to get on the cover of Madden NFL 10.

Q. How is it you're an expert on a TV gambling show and yet you shoot snake eyes when it comes to marriage? (Moe Spiegel; Pittsburgh)

A. One, I'm not an expert at anything. Two, I am now 1 for 3 at marriage, which makes me the Ichiro Suzuki of matrimony.

Q. If Supreme Court nominee Sonia Sotomayor saved baseball, isn't that an argument against her? (Steven Wood; Indianapolis)

A. Indeed, I'd be more impressed if she had figured out how to speed up the game.

Q. You don't use Old Spice Swagger, do you? (Tod Hale; Fredericksburg, Va.)

A. A splash of swagger and a dash of Metamucil, and I'm good to go for 24 hours.

Q. Is it true that the latest pitcher acquired by the woeful Washington Nationals was appraised by Antiques Roadshow as having a value of $1,575? (Bob Moss; Silver Spring, Md.)

A. Pay the man, Shirley.

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