Ooga on Weaponry
Posted by saxondawg on 1:22 PM 26-Oct-99
Before offering the Eighth Book, I thought I would pass on some interesting remarks from The Hunkering Hermit pertaining to weaponry. The quickest way to rile up the prophet is to question whether he’s lost his touch with the spiked bludgeon. He has always excelled at close combat with this weapon, but has recently begun flaying, impaling and slaughtering more enemies with the spear (judged by some warriors to be a “chuck and duck” weapon not worthy of the true battle-champion). I asked Ooga whether he was still committed to “pounding the opposition” in battle with the club, and I felt his comments were enlightening and worthy of their own post. “Bah!” spat the prophet (I had to dodge quickly). “You still liveth in the heyday of the Mongol Hordes of the Single Wing Epoch. Lo, the spiked bludgeon prevaileth as the most pleasing to the hand: it sliceth; it diceth; it maketh a casserole of thy foul and reeking counterpart; and Ooga findeth joy and quiet contentment in falling upon his opponent’s hind-parts with its razor spikes. The prophet, has he not fashioned bigger and stronger bludgeons, four cubits in length, fashioned of stern oak, with a thousand sharpened spikes dripping with the spittle of the viper, and with the face of Ooga’s loving mother painted thereon for inspiration? How pleasing it is to the Big Dawg when the spikes sinketh into the quivering, gelatinous flesh of the girly-warrior from Vandy, or the whining and slapping meatboy of Kentucky! The prophet cherishes and enshrines his used clubs, coated as they are to this very day with the bodily fluids and rotting entrails of weak pretenders who desecrate the Temple of the Dawg.
“But behold, the times they changeth! The reeking, vomit-breathing Vol, and the foul and fuming dung-faced Gator people, have they not fashioned comely armor and shields of iron? The warrior wouldst flail in vain with the bludgeon . . . unless he go up-top with the spear.
“The spear, it taketh the enemy’s eyes upward in fear, it spreadeth his fear-wracked limbs, just as it arriveth to crunch forth through his head and scatter forth fragments of his brain (if brain there be). Then, as he howleth in abject pain, blocking forth the spewing geysers of crimson warrior-blood with his grisly hands–then Ooga openeth a can of whoopass, for he cometh in on the kidneys and tenderloin regions with the bludgeon!
“Ah, the joy of Brother Bludgeon and Brother Spear, lovingly doing their work side-by-side in sweet harmony! Lo, is it not a balanced attack? This is the nineties, puny scribe! If you lusteth after the pounding of the bludgeon only, journey northward to the Land of the Big Ten, the Land of the Daynes, where mammoth and brainless Snail-People in ugly raiment shaketh the earth with their flatulent lumbering. Thunder and lightning! Blood and entrails! Spear and Club! Blessings be on fine craftsmanship!
“But lo, the catapult is a sissy contrivance. Just Ooga’s two cents.”
The Eighth Book of Ooga
Posted by saxondawg on 4:35 PM 26-Oct-99
And in the ancient times, The People of the Dawg held in slavery the wretched reptiles of the swamp, and whipped them yearly. For there had come a serpent into the garden, a slimy crawling thing wearing a visor, and in the ancient year of 1966 the Big Dawg did catch him, and bludgeon his hind-parts, and cast him out of the Garden, which is the Place of SEC champions, saying, “On you lies this curse: You shall crawl on your belly forever, and be inferior to all the creatures of the Garden. Great shall be thy recruiting, and fruitful shall be thy in-state talent pool, and yet ye shall suck forevermore, and the Big Dawg shall be thy special Angel of Enforcement, inflicting harassment on thy sorry butt unto the end of the age.”
And for eons, the Reptiles of the Swamp didst indeed crawl on their belly; and suck forth; and emit many sounds of whimpering and pathetic envy. And then came evil times, for the Big Dawg did snooze. And lo, the serpent became pumped up, and came forth and stole back into the Garden. Yet vile and slimy sayings, yea, did continue to emit from his reeking countenance. For he was the visored viper, the Evil Genius, yea, even Spurrier the Spurious; and he was well pleased with all manner of aspects of himself. And he summoned forth evil minions, and the Garden became a reeking place, and the roses wilted, and lo, life was not good.
So the Big Dawg raised up Donnan the Devourer, yea, to slay the serpent, and he did so on the heels of Robert Edwards, behold, by 20 glorious points. And the year was 1997.
And the year 1998, lo, its details escapeth me.
Behold, the Big Dawg, doth he not long to shock the world? Hear, despicable Visor Viper. The People of the Dawg hath something for you right here! And the number of the beast shall be 19. And it is a two-headed beast, for it roars forth from the defense, and yet rambleth forth as a halfback. And its name is CHARLES GRANT. And it shall smite thee with great care, that it may hurt as much as possible. For surely the hoofprints of Bill Stanfill, do they not still establisheth a tattoo upon thy hindparts? And the entire body of Bill Stanfill, it is slimmer, yea, even than one leg of the beast!
And the beast has a brother. And its name shall be KENDRELL BELL. Hear the words of Ooga, O Reeking Asp! The Bell shall be ringing in thy ears for the rest of thy days. And thy messenger, whose name is Doug Johnson, shall be excavated by archaeologists lo, thousands of years hence; for he shall be planted deep in the turf of Alltell, to Tell-all of the great smitings and massacres and butt-kickings which did proceed on this day. And the Great Wall of Stroud, its blocks are rebuilt, yea just in time for the Big Dawg to engrave upon it thy sorry epitaph. And thou shalt be exiled to the lowest and most reeking rung of the NFL, yea, even the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, forever and ever. And then thou shalt be fired, and selleth cheap insurance, and liveth in a trailer park. And crawleth on thy belly.
And lo, the People of the Dawg shall not doze again.