And lo, having vanquished the misbegotten midget micro-marauders from the stenchly stinklands of Statesboro, the People of the Dawg howled, high-fived, hiked, hunkered, and hankered for a worthier adversary. And they cast their eyes northward, to the Colossal Cockroach of Columbia, where dwell they who crow like the cock but vanish into cracks like the Roach.
And the People of the Dawg said, “Lo, worthier adversaries these are most assuredly not! But we maketh not the schedule, so whatcha gonna do?”
And the blood of the midgets having been spilt, and the thirst of the holy hedges having been satisfied, the People of the Dawg journeyed on foot many miles to the places wherefore they had tailgated forth, lo, even unto Watkinsville, and some unto villages even more remote; arriving at the places of their recreational vehicles and sacred SUVS and savage sedans, weary from the long midnight pilgrimage but filled with joy for having consumed forth many six-packs and wantonly ogled forth countless comely co-eds. And lo, they cranked forth their engines, and it was revealed unto them that the appointed time and hour had already come to journey forth yet again, even to the Colossal Cockroach of Columbia, so they set their hearts toward invasion and road-tripped forth north, howling and honking, hunkering and hankering for a hammering.
And behold, an easy hammering it shall be, for is not the Clan of the Cockroach celebrated for its astounding feebleness? Is not he a womanly, wimpish and wishy-washy warrior who taketh down his sacred goal-post for a trouncing of New Mexico State, an unworthy sacrifice, having vomited forth the ball six times even so? Aye! Behold the Cheesy, Chattering, Choking, Chumpish Chuckle-heads of Chickenland. And is it not written among the scribes of the ancients, that thou canst not spell LOUSY without LOU? And is this not September, wherein the air is filled with a Chock of Cock Crock around the Clock?
Thus the Big Dawg shall enjoy a filet, for the Chumps of the Chicken are spineless; and then he shall spew forth, for it is whispered forth that Lou the Chicken Chieftain is half-baked. But even so, there shall still be a feast, for the People of the Dawg shall open forth a massive can. Seymour the Sackmeister shall return in glory, to visit untold tribulation upon the feeble blockers who wouldst hinder him; Grant the Gut-Grinder and Kendrell the Keister-Kicker shall descend upon the Chumpish Ones like grease upon Original Recipe. And the Clan of the Cockroach shall silence their chickenly chattering yet again, lo, for ten months, until that time wherein the Rule of the Rooster shall once again be proclaimed, as of olde, by feeble false prophets. But they shall be easy to pluck, even as they suck, for the truck of the Cluck is stuck in the muck. And out of luck.
And lo, who letteth the dawg out?