For the second time in less than three hours, Jay Cutler found himself on his front porch. The difference was that this time it was with several dozen police officers. Cutler struggled to pay attention as the officer standing in front of him continued to ask questions. James something, he said his name was. Actually, it might’ve been Charles. Cutler didn’t give a fuck.
“Let’s go over this one more time, Mr. Cutler. I just want to make sure I understand.”
There are three things in this world that Jay Cutler hates: plus-size models, Brett Favre, and having to repeat himself. He lit a cigarette and took a drag.
“Well, officer, I had some friends over.”
“And around what time would you say that was?”
“Recently.”
“Do you recall the exact time?”
“No, my sundial is broken.”
“And they came over in that?”
The officer pointed to the Bell 407GX helicopter sitting in Cutler’s yard. The yard was littered with tree branches and debris, and several officers were peering into the $2.54 million dollar machine with flashlights.
Cutler flicked his cigarette at the officer’s feet.
“Sure did.”
“So you knew they were coming to your house?”
“No, I have early onset dementia and forgot about it. What was the question again?”
When he agreed to let Johnny Manziel invite Drake to come “hang out” a couple of hours ago, Cutler didn’t anticipate Drake showing up in a fucking helicopter. While the officer droned on about violations of FAA regulations, Cutler fantasized about beating Manziel mercilessly with a phonebook.
As he watched the last police car drive off, Cutler pulled out his phone to check the time. 4:48 AM. He had three new voicemails from Kyle Orton, which he deleted. Whatever momentary peace Cutler felt in the early hours of the morning were immediately drowned out by the music and audible yelling coming from inside his house. Having been in a Valium-induced nap when Drake showed up and immediately whisked to the door when the cops arrived, he wasn’t quite sure who had come with Drake to hang out with Johnny. He walked back towards the house, putting out his cigarette and lighting another. He flung the door open.
Manziel was standing on the living room table shotgunning a Four Loko. Drake, a shirtless J.R. Smith, and some goth looking kid with a fucked up haircut were sitting on the couch cheering him on. LeBron James and Kyrie Irving were sitting on the other portion of the couch immersed in NBA 2k16. LeBron was the first to notice Cutler’s presence. “Jay my man!” Before Cutler could respond, a small animal darted between his legs and through the open door.
“Was that a fucking monkey?”
Ricky Williams came out of the kitchen, visibly stoned. In his hand was a potato, which he was eating as if it were an apple.
“Actually man, it’s a lemur.”
Cutler ignored Williams and looked around the room. There was enough weed on the dining room table to earn everyone in the house consecutive life sentences. Manziel was now sitting on the couch, leaning over the table ripping lines off of Cutler’s SEC Offensive Player of the Year plaque. Drake introduced Cutler to Abel, which is apparently what they called the emo looking kid with the weird haircut. Abel was wearing a leather trenchcoat, which is one of the top four things that make Jay Cutler extremely uncomfortable. He decided that he’d be nice to Abel just in case he turned out to be a serial killer. Cutler went to the kitchen and grabbed a Busch Light from the fridge.
Cutler walked back to the living room, where Manziel was back on the table dancing to “Jumpman.” As if on cue, Manziel slipped off the table and hit the floor harder than all the times Cutler had been sacked. In the process of falling, he had essentially thrown his drink on J.R. Smith. As Johnny tried to get up, LeBron dropped him with a vicious sack-tap. Irving started laughing so hard that he fell off the couch, ripping down the curtains in the living room. Smith, still covered in Johnny’s drink, leaned down and slapped him in the mouth so hard that Manziel immediately projectile vomited.
Cutler looked around for something stronger to drink. He grabbed a plastic bottle of Taaka sitting on a table, unscrewed the cap, and turned it upside down. It was the last thing he’d remember.
— to be continued
You can find Part I here.
