The First Prophecy of Ooga – 8/31/2000

And lo, the morning came when the People of the Dawg began their one-thousand-year reign of terror over all the reeking hordes of the Southeastern wastes. And there was rejoicing in the lands, and everyone tailgated forth, and sometimes fifth and sixth, wherever they might find a place.

But some there were, within a few hundred miles of the Holy Hedges, who revered not the People of the Dawg. And they dwelt in a sickening and decrepit shanty of a mudhole, and its name was Statesboro. And their warriors were not of an ancient and manly race, but of less than twenty years. And their battles were not with the most fearsome and savage tribes, but with the stench-begotten clusters of the wimpy and womanly, whose names were like unto Youngstown and other simpering and feeble clans. And they fashioned for themselves the battle icon of the Eagle, for they were, indeed, an endangered species and their day of extinction, did it not surely draw nigh? And the People of the Dawg set forth to make that day come sooner.

And lo, these Birdpeople were like unto miserable, misbegotten, miasmic midgets who shutteth not their craven pie-holes in the day of their greatest peril; for the great spiked feet of the Dawg warriors, each toe in itself greater in height and muscle and manliness than an entire offensive lineman of the Birdpeople, stood ready to trample and annihilate them, like unto skittering and slimy roaches with great yammering mouth-holes. And still the Eaglepeople chattereth; still they bringeth forth the smack, though they spelleth none of it right in their shameful and simple-minded illiteracy. And still they revered their leader, who sayeth idiotic things, such as that the tribes of East Tennessee State were more savage than the People of the Dawg; and the Great Wall of Stroud and the towering Cedar of Seymour looked forth at one another, seeing it forth on the bulletin board of Bait and Tackle, and sayeth, Surely this weasel shall become like unto a stain on the great and grassy grounds of Sanford. They baiteth, we tackleth. And thy great footman, Adrian the Alleged, shall he not wear a thick and many-tonned coat of snarling, chisel-fanged warriors, more fleet-footed than himself, who shall Dawg his every step?

Hear, O Sucklings of Southern Soft-Scheduled Cesspools! Thou hast journeyed beyond the wee elves of thy accustomed nursery-games. Thou shalt be mangled, mutilated and mute-mouthed midgets when night falls upon the Holy Hedges. And thou shalt reenter thy tractors for a long and weeping journey back to thy Lovely League of Lollipops. And the People of the Dawg shall not even remember thee as they come into their kingdom, against the more savage hordes of the manly regions. And thou shalt rejoice not to be remembered by warriors such as these.

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