Foxy has mad gameness. "Gameness" is a word my friends and I picked up from a book, A Fighter's Heart , by Sam Sheridan. It means a willingness to fight even if a dog is whipped and dragged out tired. The word came from the underground world of illegal dog fighting, but critics started using "gameness" to describe mixed martial artists, the guys on Ultimate Fighting Championships.Foxy is my girlfriend's 4-pound Pomeranian Chihuahua.
Once I get Foxy's conditioning up, I'm going to enter her into a fight. My girlfriend would never give the go-ahead for this so I've waited until she's in Hawaii, vacationing with her best friend.
"How's Foxy?" my girl asked on the phone last night.
"Oh, she's doing great. She's sleeping right now," I lied. Foxy was really on a treadmill, chasing a stuffed plushy dog hung on the wall. Mad gameness.
I've pumped Foxy with steroids, raw meat, and Gatorade since the second my girl got on the plane. Good doggie.
Foxy's on a strict regimen of jogging, eating, and beatings. Since the dog weighs less than a phone book, I kind of just roll her around, grab at her snout, and pick her legs up to swat her on the butt. I growl at her a lot to get her used to confrontation. She's chained to a laundry detergent bottle in my kitchen. Isolation drives a dog crazy.
"Foxy, kill!" I yell when I take her out for a walk and a poop and we pass the neighbor's yard. Tera is the neighbor's 100-pound Rottweiler. "Foxy, kill!" I yell, and Foxy jumps to Tera's fence and snaps at the big dog's feet.
So far my neighbor has turned down every opportunity to fight the two dogs. Because his damn dog is a sissy, and he knows Foxy would destroy Tera. Every day, I stand outside their gate, hold Foxy up and shout, "Let's do it! Hundred bucks says Foxy rips Tera's throat out!" Nothing. My neighbor has zero gameness.
I've got two days left before my girlfriend arrives home from her trip to Hawaii. I'm stepping up Foxy's training. In the first few days I only worked her physically, but I'm throwing in mental training. Now, at night, Foxy and I sit on the couch and watch reruns of the Ultimate Fighting Championships.
Foxy lays upside down, and I massage her tiny leg muscles and rub her belly. "See, Foxy? Randy Couture. You are Randy Couture."
Thursday, July 12
Softball: 2007 Taco Bell All-Star Legends
ESPN 10:00 a.m.
The word "legend" is being tossed out here a little too lightly. Softball legend? Another line of thinking is that when I say the word legend I'm using it incorrectly. If I say Muhammad Ali was a legend, does that really mean I think he's a middle-aged lesbian with a beer gut?
Don't Forget the Lyrics!
Fox 8:30 p.m.
In a prom-dress-type situation Fox and NBC have devised essentially the same television show. NBC's is called The Singing Bee , and Fox's offering to Wal-Mart shoppers is this steaming sack. Not since The Addams Family and The Munsters debacle have the networks been so overlapping. Who will win in the ratings game? The real answer: go outside, you're devoting entirely too much time to crap that you'll forget on your deathbed.
Friday, July 13
Food 8:00 p.m.
I feel sorry for the weird salad dressings that nobody eats. Sure everyone has some ranch, balsamic vinaigrette, or for those wild times, bleu cheese on hot wings. But what about Thousand Island? I think at night the bottles of Thousand Island hang their heads and weep a little because no one's going to buy them in the morning.
Saturday, July 14
Tour de France, Stage 7 -- Live
VS 4:30 a.m. -- 8:30 a.m.
Even with living immortal Ol' One Nut McGhee, Lance Armstrong, "le Tour" is le boring. Without him, VS Network has about as much chance of getting people to watch as that bum in the bus stop who propositions all the passing schoolgirls with a "puppet show" from his zipper.
Televisa 9:30 p.m.
Weird. This isn't the movie with Tom Hanks or the original series from 1967. This is a remake of the series, starring the dad from Married with Children . Apparently, in 2003 there were two seasons of this made by USA. And, you'll notice, this broadcast is in Spanish. I'm certain I'll watch only because I've given up drugs, but still crave that What the hell is going on? feeling of complete confusion.
Sunday, July 15
Building the Great Pyramid
Discovery 8:00 p.m.
My friend, Ron, went to Egypt last year. He hit all the sites, floated down the Nile, rode camels to the pyramids in Giza. His favorite part: There's a KFC situated about 50 yards from the Sphinx. He says you can eat a fried drumstick and gaze upon a neon sign of the Colonel. With Sphinx in the distance. I'm totally going to that KFC next year.
Monday, July 16
Victoria Beckham: Coming to America
NBC 8:00 p.m.
Super. Posh Spice moves to Los Angeles and (of course!) we get a reality TV show about it. Hollywood documents the mundane goings on of yet another pretty millionaire. I feel like a slave waiting for Abraham Lincoln to free me. I harvest my mud, sleep on my hay, and sing my spiritual songs of redemption, yet no one, no one, will write entertaining programming.
Tuesday, July 17
The Night Before Christmas
HSN 8:00 p.m.
What the hell? HSN takes a turn that could be described as tacky, even by their standards. I might watch just to see the sad broken gazes of the hosts who are forced to hock Christmas standards in the middle of July. They'll be a bit like orphans begging for porridge, and I'll call in and tell them I'm a millionaire and I want to buy the whole lot. Then I'll hang up without giving my credit card information and laugh. Ha ha ha! Merry Christmas, suckers!
Wednesday, July 18
Ferrets: The Pursuit of Excellence
PBS 9:00 p.m.
Excuse me? PBS continues its devotion to esoteric interests broadcast to the masses and confusion as to why nobody watches. Ferrets. Really, PBS? Ferrets?
Thursday, July 19
ABC 8:00 p.m.
Until Salma Hayek pulls her top off, I'm not watching. Since she's no longer affiliated with the show, ABC's chances of snaring the chubby, 31-year-old, Caucasian, North Park, hetero, alcoholic, male demographic are slipping further and further away from them.