This is the summer of my discontent.

First, it was Don Imus who drowned, then disappeared in a sea of well-deserved criticism. Then it was Tony Soprano who may or may not have been “whacked” while eating his onion rings. We will never know. Now, it’s “Mr. Tony” Kornheiser who has abandoned his radio show (and us) to prepare his orange face for Monday Night Football.

Wise guys, one and all.

That’s morning, noon and night without Don, Tony and Tony? What exactly am I supposed to do all day? Get some exercise? Mow the lawn? Paint the trim? Get a j-j-j-j-j-job?

I have perfected the practice of doing nothing all day into an art form. I have been waiting for retirement since I was 10. But even I need some amusement during the day.

Imus started the day much before I got up. Every morning, he was on either the radio, television or streaming through the computer. He was much too slow to condemn Bush’s folly in Iraq to suit me, but his relentless grilling of politicians and pundits from both sides of the aisle almost made up for it.

Imagine what he would do to fading John McCain this very morning.

I once asked vice presidential candidate Joe Lieberman, speaking at a Camden fundraiser, why he subjected himself to such withering criticism from the Imus crew. He said, “It’s better to be there and take it face to face than to let him attack you without response.”

But Imus went much too far, much too often, like when he attacked the Rutgers women’s basketball team as “nappy-headed hos.” That was it.

His departure has ruined my mornings. But I still buy Imus chips, salsa and cleaning products to keep the poor boy in groceries. I wonder what the often harsh Mrs. Imus has to say about all of this to poor, poor Don. I wonder if he can take it as well as he can dish it out.

Kornheiser has been a staple of my day since he went on ESPN a decade ago, long before he graduated to television and Monday Night Football. He is much better on radio simply because you don’t have to look at him. But he is frighteningly intelligent and his diatribes are as likely to be about “The Sopranos,” “American Idol” or the movies, as they are about baseball, basketball or football. He is like the acerbic friend you love to see at parties when the conversation has bogged down in crab grass and children stories. Plus, he does not allow calls from fans, just athletes (sometimes), coaches and other reporters (the finest people in the world, of course.)

I love Mr. Tony not only because he takes a bus to Monday Night Football sites since he wisely refuses to fly, but because on two occasions he has read my columns on national radio. Both times I missed them, of course.

I became addicted to “The Sopranos” from the first show. I skillfully arranged for Sunday night visits at homes of my wealthier friends to watch the show, before I accidentally discovered I had the HBO series on demand on my own cable package.

I need full-time help.

Now, I can watch it all the time, and do. I felt like I was one of the gang with Chrissy, Paulie, Big Pussy and “Tone.” I would have whacked a New York crew member if “Tone” told me to. I have watched the last show at least a dozen times and will continue to do so until the show disappears from my cable. The best movie of all time, was of course “The Godfather,” and I have seen it enough times to memorize most of the dialogue.

“Leave the gun. Take the cannoli.”

But “The Sopranos” was right up there, despite the weak, spineless ending when the screen went black for 10 seconds before the final credits. Creator David Chase left you to decide if Tony Soprano was shot to death in front of his wife and children, before he got to finish those onion rings.

Unforgivable.

Didn’t we see Brando shot to pieces, then survive to expire among his beloved tomatoes? I think we could have survived if the weak-kneed Soprano writer let us see the final scene.

After Tony choked his nephew to death after a car wreck, I decided the crime boss had to go, one way or the other. I have decided there was blood on the onion rings and Tony won’t be down for breakfast in that awning of a robe.

How am I supposed to get through summer? Don, Tony and Tony. Gone. All gone.

It’s enough to make me think about getting a job.

Maybe not.

Send complaints and compliments to Emmet Meara at emmetmeara@msn.com.