The Ninth Book of Ooga
Posted by saxondawg on 2:34 PM 10-Nov-99
In the beginning, the Big Dawg created the Heavenly Hedges and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void where prohibited.
On the first day, he made the People of the Dawg. And he was well pleased.
On the second day, he fashioned the Chickens of the Plains, that the Dawgs may have some vile and objectionable creature to thrash and pummel and inflict diverse varieties of pain upon. And so, before all manner of reptiles and hill people and insects ever teed it up, the People of the Dawg and the Chickens of the Plains, lo, they duketh it out.
But the Chickens of the Plains were corrupt, and claimed for themselves a foul and dung-encrusted wasteland, like unto Clemson; and like unto the fetid, reeking provinces of Neyland and the Swamp; yea, fouler even than the stinking coops of Columbia, and almost but not quite as heinous as the Midtown Hive of the Buzzing Gnat. And they called that land Auburn, for the word meaneath “brown.” And the Chickens of the Plains thought that was beautiful.
But green must be the wallets of the Chickens of the Plains; for hath they not enriched the polyester pockets of Tater Tot the Tiny One, as an enticement to keep silent? (Lo, many there have been who would pay not to hear the Tiny One’s porcine squealings.) Hath the Chicken People not cast gold and jewels and deferred stock enticements upon the Cringing Criminoles of Tallahassee, as an enticement not to inflict nationally televised humiliation upon the Chicken People? Lo, they who driveth the tractors must have harvested bounteous bushels of payoff booty! But all thy wealth, can it buy an offense?
Hear, O Chicken People! The Big Dawg heareth the Band, and it’s playing “our” song! Glory, glory! And he says unto you, take thy fistfuls of booty and buyeth your OWN song; for thou wilt shortly be changing thy tune anyway, and it shall begin, “Gory, gory!” For the Big Dawg hath looked upon the Chief Chicken, the Tubb-of-Vile, he whose ears are like unto radars. Hear these words with those Ears of Enormity, Tubb-of-Vile! The Big Dawg will prove that the Heavenly Hedges of Sanford are Holy Hedges, and no invading chickenly band shall roost successfully here in the future. For the Great Wall of Stroud is stronger than chickenwire, and ye shall not score. Grant the Grinder shall squeeze thy puny quarterbacks, and ye shall not score. Thy Bell shall be rung, so gird up thy loins! But ye shall not score. And Quincy the Quieter-Recently, is he not due for a break-out game? Shall he not riddle thy feeble, prancing cornerbacks with pigskins of propulsion? Shall not Sanks the Savage trample thy feathery birdmeat?
And lo, on the Sixth Day the Big Dawg covereth the spread. And on the Seventh Day the Big Dawg shall rest. And on the Eighth Day, in an empty stadium, the People of the Chicken MAY score. On a field goal.