November 29, 2006
THE NEW YORK GIANTS AND MY DOG MOCHA ARE RUINING MY PATHETIC LIFE
They're both close to death — the Giants and my little dog Mocha. I can't write. My heart is broken. On Sunday the Giants blew a 21 to 0 lead and a considerable amount of my betting money in the fourth quarter. Being a good sport I would like to make the following observations:
Plaxico Burress is a lazy, miserable f—ing quitter who should be released.
They should fire Tom Coughlin who is hands down the worst coach in football, and that includes the Pee Wee leagues.
Eli Manning looks like Howdy Doody and is a disaster.
The Giants must be the worst conditioned team in all of football because they even get hurt during the playing of the National Anthem. They try to put their hands over their hearts and are so clumsy they break a few of their own ribs in the process.
Do you want to make some money? Dallas is just a 3-point favorite over the Giants in next Sunday's game. Bet everything you can while the spread is so low. Dallas and Tony Romo are going to beat the Giants by at least 30 points. The Giants are dead.
They're dogs . . . dogs . . . dogs. And, speaking of dogs, my little pooch Mocha is sick again.
Here's something I wrote about Mocha the last time he got sick. It was titled:
IS MOCHA GOING TO THE BETTY FORD CLINIC?
How frightened are pharmacists and the pharmaceutical industry of lawsuits?
What follows is a true story.
My little sweet Yorkie, Mocha, is sick. My house is turning into poop city.
My wife, the beautiful Judy Licht, took Mocha to the vet, and after an extensive and costly examination, he prescribed medicine for Mocha. This, in my opinion, was essential for Mocha's health because Judy was threatening to strangle the little guy if he pooped on one more rug. Clearly, whatever Mocha had wasn't the kind of ailment that caused him to go all the time. The minute the little mutt's paws touched pavement he became constipated. Then he would come into the house and head for a rug and make a mess.
Anyway, Judy took the vet's prescription to Newton-Timmermann, our local pharmacy in New York City, and got it filled. The other day, I spotted a prescription bottle on my kitchen counter and checked to see what member of my family it belonged to. The name on the label was Mocha Della Femina. The drug was Metronidazole. The directions were to take a half tablet every morning and evening. Next to the label was a warning: AVOID ALCOHOL. I owe my son J.T. an apology. I thought he was the one stealing my scotch — I never suspected Mocha was a drinker.
Mocha recovered and was going along fine until two weeks ago when he went on a pooping-in-the-house rampage. He lost a lot of weight and our vet put him on steroids. For a while I believed the steroids were going to bulk up his lean 15 lb body. But, alas, even the steroids didn't work and there have been days when it was hard to believe that so much doggy poop could come out of such a tiny dog.
The other day we got word from the vet. Mocha has Addison's Disease. "Where have I heard of Addison's Disease?" asked Judy when she finished speaking in hushed tones to our vet on the phone.
"Addison's Disease — that's the disease that President John F. Kennedy had and was so careful to keep hidden from the American public," I said.
"Our little dog has the same disease President Kennedy had?" Judy asked incredulously.
"You've got it. Mocha and President Kennedy, both tragic victims of Addison's Disease," I said.
"What can we do about it?" Judy asked.
"First of all, we must make sure that Mocha never drives in an open convertible in Dallas, Texas," I replied.
That was when Judy screamed and called me a rotten son-of-a-bitch.
Finally, something to smile about. Sara Vass, a friend, sent this to me. It's called The Gracie Allen Recipe. I showed it to Judy who insists this is how she cooks, so here it is:
Judy Licht's Classic Recipe for Roast Beef
1 large Roast of beef
1 small Roast of beef
Take the two roasts and put them in the oven. When the little one burns, the big one is done.
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