The Second Book of Ooga the Hermit – 9/7/99

The Second Book of Ooga. His Weekly Prophecies.

These are the weekly prophecies of Ooga, the huddling hermit, as revealed unto Saxondawg, who is his messenger.

Lo, and at the seventeenth hour of the eleventh day of the ninth month of the fourth year of the reign of Donnan the Dogged, there shall come an invading army of Chicken-people from the east. From that barren wasteland known as Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean shall they come, and yet they shall meet the Jim of Commotion, and they shall in truth be devoured. Behold, Ooga has proclaimed it! Heed Ooga, ye ignorant and foul-smelling Carolinians! You who would boast of giving forth unto the world “Hootie and the Blowfish”! Ooga snorteth!

And a belligerent cry doth surely go up in reply from the House of the Hen. Even now its girlish fan-boys cluck forth, “Fear us, O dog-people! For we are led by Lou the Elocutioner, Motivator of Multitudes, Giver of Halftime Declamations and Self-Help Readings! He leadeth us to four wins, perhaps five! Lou the Linguist, shape-shifter who taketh the form of a pig, of a wolf, of a gopher, of a Catholic! Has he not lately made of himself a cock?” And yea, verily, on that point Ooga canst not differ.

Woe unto you, O Chicken-people! Thy offense, is it not leprous? Thy defense, whence no monsoon delivereth it, wherefore shall it prevail? Amidst the bloody hedges of Sanford ye shall be delivered for slaughter. Seymour the Sack-chieftain shall lay the hurt on thee, and the Great Wall of Stroud shall stumble on thy afflicted hind-quarters of a surety. Jasper the Jubilant shall feast on thy quivering entrails, and Terrence the Terrible, shall ye not choke on his dust? Great shall be Lou the Elocutioner’s motivational thoughts as ye lie in thy full body-casts for the duration.

And lo, Ooga taketh the points. He wagereth and rejoiceth, for shall he not be wealthy among hermits? Shall not Donnan the Demolisher take unto himself as a trophy the Great Lips of Lou?

Lo, he shall fashion of them a hat, for are they not of sufficient size and durability? Hear the final word of Ooga, O Chicken-people of the east: Ooga readeth the signs and foretelleth three lame and languishing Lou-years, followed by the day in which the Elocutioner shall vanish from the face of the conference and roost once more to chatter idiotically among the nabobs of the network. Then shall come for the Chicken-people three more lame years, nay seven! (Yea, this prophecy, is it not a no-brainer?) Then shalt all the people of the barren wasteland squawk and cluck forth, “Fear us, O Dog-people! For we are led by Terry the Tiny, newly hired, for is he not of old from the village of the Plains, in the latter years before it discontinueth football? For our travails, we putteth them all upon our last coach, feebler was he even than Brad Scott, surely he was to blame!”

And Ooga shall guffaw, and snicker, and emit disrespectful bodily sounds in thy direction, and taketh the points yet again.

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