The absolutely worst dog in the world. Ever!

So that movie "Marley and Me" made $800 billion over the Christmas weekend, which is more money I'll earn if I live to be 37,000 years old.

As some of you may recall, I am boycotting the movie because I seethe with jealousy. Some reporter got himself an ill-behaved dog and turned it into a national sensation.

I kick myself for not thinking about it.

And what's so special about Marley? His claim to fame is that he's the "worst dog in the world."

HA!

Here's how I spent my Christmas (Yes, I'm Jewish, but it was still a day off). You tell me who's more terrible, Marley or Rocket:

It rained all Christmas morning. But by early afternoon the sun was poking through and the ground was drying.

Around 2 p.m., there was a knock on my door. It was my across-the-street neighbors telling me they were taking their dogs to the Top Secret Illegal Dog Beach (which is really located at the bottom of the Trump Golf Course in Rancho Palos Verdes.) Would I like to join them?

I put Rocket on his leash, and darted out to my car wearing just a sweatshirt. It was cool out, but I figured I'd get warm walking down the trails.

I should mention that I am getting over a cold and am having a hard time breathing.

Anyway, we got to the bottom of the cliffs and Rocket was itching to get off his leash. I looked at the expanse of sand and I looked at the dog. I knew there was a reasonable chance I would regret my decision, but I unhooked his leash and let him loose. 

The first half hour were pleasant enough. Rocket and Buddy were happy as could be as they raced up and down the beach.

But then Rocket decided he wanted to explore the cliffs. Off he went into the thicket of bushes.

It started to drizzle. I looked up and realized that another storm was coming.

Everybody else started gathering up their dogs to leave, but Rocket was just getting started.

"C'mon boy," I called as he popped in and out of the bushes.

Then the rain started coming down hard.

"Rocket, let's go!" I shouted, but he ignored me.

I looked around. My friends were gone. The beach was deserted. Rocket kept ignoring me.

The dirt turned into a slick clay and I kept sliding on it as I tried to walk.

My clothes were soaked. I was shivering. I could barely breathe and I kept stumbling on the slippery wet rocks as I tried to catch up with that little jerk. Frigid needles of rain hit me in the face. My nose was running and I was covered in water and mud.

The end.

Ok, not really. But the rest of the story is pretty tedious. I finally caught him and dragged his sorry butt to the car. I got home, took a warm bath and gave him dirty looks for for the rest of the night.

Ok, that's really the end.

Or is it?