Acadia is one guilt trippin’ motherfucker who is all “write something, we need content, jerk.” And when he says jerk, it really gets you.

So, I set out to not be a jerk. Which led to, hey, Plaxico Burress shot himself, it was kind of a big deal and he hasn’t been talking much in the media since then, you know? We figured, hey, we scoop that action, get the interview and at least five people will stop reading and get in on this interview.

It was set and I headed to New Jersey to sit down at a table with Plaxico, listen to him with a tape recorder and a writing pad. I was prepared for him to be a great guy painted wrongly by the media. Prepared for me to not give a damn about this and completely distort his words for the sake of penning this article.

He met me at the door to his home. It goes without saying that the place was large. It looked like the house that Tony Soprano lived in. Plax filled me in on that, “Yeah, you recognize this joint? Straight up, bought this plot of land, told a cat,  ‘fill it out like that Tony Soprano number’ and he so did.”

He was, thankfully, wearing sweatpants when I arrived. I chuckled knowing that Plax was wearing sweats to the club that fateful evening of misfire. He spread his arms and let me pat him down. Since I have a law degree, I started referring to it as a Terry Stop and he started referring to it as “a white man who would get choked if he tried any funny stuff.”

We were off and running. Well, Plax was running, apparently he had a spill going on his kitchen counter and needed to soak it up. I was surprised to see Plax was using the Sham-Wow, but then completely unsurprised when I assumed that Plax probably spends like 95% of his day stoned and watching infomercials.

“You’re going to spend 20 bucks a month on paper towels anyways!” Plaxico let me know.

Plaxico then turned his attention to me. To what I was carrying, to be exact.

“Duffel bag? The hell a journalist got a god damn duffel bag for?” I tried to explain that, well, I wasn’t a journalist, just blogging it up and I tried to come up with an awesome excuse for having a lame duffel bag. It didn’t matter, he was distracted.

“I mean, I don’t see a reason for carrying a duffel bag around,” Plax said. “Just get a backpack, you know. Unless, you’re pulling a bank job.”

I didn’t really know what he was talking about.

Then he made like six phone calls and thirty minutes later we were outside of a bank in Manhattan putting on painter’s clothing and boy did we have quite the arsenal of weapons at our disposal. I asked Plax if we were really doing this thing. He just spit on the ground. I thought, God damn right we’re doing this thing.

Then I asked Mr. Burress if I could leave.

He told me I had to knock out the cameras with this high powered flash light and then to take this assault weapon and when I hear him firing, to just shoot the gun off at anyone.

“Even you?” I asked.

“Bitch, please,” Plaxico said.

I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant.

Anyway, we got into the bank, locked up tight behind us. The rest, well, I will not say that the rest was a blur, but that is simply to avoid the cliché. Because, man, I do not remember a damn thing. Outside of one simple fact that I will carry with me the rest of my life.

Robbing a bank is CRAZY!

We got in there, boom I hit the cameras with my lights, Plax’s boys got in there, fired some rounds into the ceiling. People just straight yelling all over the place. I pulled on my Chester A. Arthur mask and remember seeing Plaxico, I think he was imitating catching a fade pass in the end zone, but then caught a set of keys. Hopefully keys to the vault, or well, what were we doing this thing for?

Next thing I know, WHAP!!! I got hit with something. Well, that’s some James Frey on ya’ll, realistically, I could not see a damn thing out of that mask so I bumped into a column and was out. When I woke, I was in a William McKinley mask. I quickly cursed Plax’s buddy Slim for switching up masks on me, but had to get back in the game quick because we had company.

Johnny Law was in the building, but just chatting Plax up. This lack of action made me think maybe it was a copper of the Canadian Mounted variety despite the lack of red, and, well, horse.

Plax escorted the lazy cop to the entrance of the bank and walked him right on out. Figured Plax would have at least shot him in the ankle or something. Surprised the hell out of the cop, too, because he started to walk away, but doubled back and started to smack on the door to the bank.

“What are you doing? This ain’t no bank robbery!!!”

Woah, what the hell did this gentleman know about the situation that I wasn’t up on?

Then, I noticed Slim wearing my Chester A. Arthur mask cold taking all the railroads in a game of Monopoly with some of the hostages.

What exactly was going on here?

No time to dwell on that question, as the rest of Plax’s crew came rushing towards me, duffel bags over their shoulders and huge ass guns in their hands. Plax kicked open the door to the bank Karate Kid style.

When I say Karate Kid style, I am telling you that the man did the Crane Kick on that door. I am not sure why he went after the door like that, but he had said, “Hold my blunt, dog, I got this” no less than thirty seconds prior.

It should go without saying, the glass shattering was quite impressive.

At that point I was handed one of those guns and told that it was time to “roll on these suckers.” I’m not really sure what a member of Plax’s entourage would mean by that phrase, however, I made the executive decision at that point to “roll on these suckers” by gently placing my gun on the ground and trying to blend in with the rest of the hostages.

I did this by crying.

Then a little kid asked me what the hell I was crying for and gave me a slice of pizza that Plax brought in for the hostages. I felt a little embarrassed at first but then remembered, obviously, that my tears were just a great acting job for me to blend in with the hostages. It worked, as I’m here typing this tale.

The rest of the afternoon, well, Plax fired those guns a lot. It was just pop-pop-pop all over the place. One of the craziest bank robbery gun fights ever. Seriously, you’re going to watch it on the Discovery Channel one day and just go, “Holy shit, where did they get all that fire power?”

Alternate ending, Goodell met Plax at the door of the bank and glared menacingly at him. Plaxico then laid the guns down, sulked away and Goodell will likely look negatively upon the incident.

Not me, though, dude is a legend.