And lo, over time, many nations rose and prospered and fell again. Many tasted the wine of greatness, only to sip the bitter gall of defeat. But there was one nation consistent, almost magical, in its feeblesness. And it chose for itself the name of the Chicken People. For the its people clucked constantly, flapped their weakened wings, and attempted to crow with a womanish squawk. But in each time and season, when the winter came, the Chickens raised their eyes to the clouds and saw the other nations flying South for the winter, to be warmed by the Great Bowls of Fire which mark the commencement of the New Year. And the People of the Chicken clucked sadly, for they longed to see with their chickenly eyes the enchanted lands of the Great Bowls of Fire. And they flapped their wings frantically and ran in circles, attempting to fly. But only in the next life could they see the Great Bowls, and only in that next incarnation as tailgating meals, for Southern Fried Chicken was indeed a favorite of the true warriors who held forth the Great Bowls of Fire.
Then one day a stranger wandered into the barnyard. He was one Lord Holtz of Hokum, the 9,000-year-old witch doctor and motivational guru. In truth he was now little more than a stone statue, being elderly, hideously wrinkled, and able only to give forth the sounds of self-help tapes from a machine lodged within his bowels. But the chickens allowed themselves to hope. For all of them marveled at the motivational cluckings from his tapes, and many of them flapped their wings even more frantically and sought to become “peak achievers” and “inner winners” and to “stop the stinkin’ thinkin’.” For thus said the motivational tapes, and all the Chickens bowed down to the statue and worshiped, and clucked endlessly of Lord Lou’s greantess.
And, for a moment, emboldened by self-help mantras, the People of the Chicken rose up and flew–several feet in length did they fly. And being exhilarated by this airborne moment, they began to cluck even louder, more boldly, and to run around in more circles, and to announce forth to the world that the People of the Chicken were now the fiercest, highest-flying beasts that walked the earth. And thus they invaded the Holy Hedges of Sanford, where they attacked the People of the Dawg with prideful arrogance.
And lo, Richt the Righteous unleashed again the People of the Dawg. And they attacked Petty the Puny-Armed, and Derek the Undisciplined, and every other clucking thing. And Uga. the Great Dawg who presides at the fray, ventured forth to the stone statue of Lord Lou, and lifteth his leg, and doeth his thing. And the statue giveth forth a shreik, as the machinery of the tape recorder explodeth within the bowels of the idol. And then the spell of the deep magic of motivational speaking was broken. For the unsightly wrinkles of Lord Lou deepened, cutting into the stone until it began to crack. And the wig took flight from its head; and its dentures shot from the mouth, embedding themselves in the hindquarters of Derek the Undisciplined. And its pace-maker, too, did indeed explode.
And the hidden loin-cloths known as Depend became undependable, for surely the ancient thing did indeed wet itself. And finally, as the Great Chapel Bell of Champions rang forth throughout the land, the stone statue of Lord Lou burst into countless pieces, and those pieces seeped into the Sacred Soil of Sanford to fertilze the ground where true warriors have trodden, and will tread again. And the People of the Dawg breathed a great sigh of relief, and enjoyed the silence. Amen.