And lo, when the Big Dawg created the world, he looked upon it and saw that it was a Dawgly world, and it was good; and he furnished it with many Dawgly creations, such as trees, and bushes, and telephone poles, and fire hydrants, and Tech alumni, that the People of the Dawg might never lack for inspiration in their great and masterly target practice. And so the Big Dawg divided the earth and all its tribes into two varieties: the Dawg and the Drenched; the predator and the prey; The muncher and the munchee.
And of all the reeking tribes of the world, they whose scent lureth the People of the Dawg, they who are weak and unmanly and provide fitting targets for the lordly lifted leg of the canine conqueror, none excels the tribe known as the Vandiferous Book-bearing Peoples of Nashville. For truly may it be said that in defenselessness and impotency they have no equal. Behold, the Commodore People combine the powerful military defenses of France with the sea-going aptitudes of the Swiss navy. And the People of the Dawg looketh upon them, and sayeth, “Behold, here are weak and churlish men. See, even now they readeth poetry and nibbleth stinky cheeses–from France! See, they disdaineth the beer appointed forth for those wise in the ways of the Big Dawg, and drinketh wine coolers instead! See, they weareth yellow for our inspiration; yellow is our color; let us go forth and relieve ourselves.”
And thus the People of the Dawg openeth a can, but it containeth no caviar of the Commodore People. It containeth the Deadly, Devouring Defense of Dawgly Devastation and Destruction, and it wreaketh havoc among the whining and whimpering weasels of the wastes of Nashville. And the Big Dawg hangeth 40, nay, 50 points upon his emfeebled opponent, and still haveth enough left in him to water the holy hedges of Sacred Sanford, that they might grow strong and mighty in future generations. And those who survive nurseth their bruises, returneth forth to Nashville, drinketh their wine coolers, nibbleth their cheese, and read many French poems, and dream of the great day when they might finally slip down to the dredges of the ACC, where they might play Wake Forest forever and ever. Amen.