Eleventh Book of Ooga (Auburn) – 11/14/2002

From olden days riseth the legend of the White Powder Man, he of the Tiger Eagles from the Jungle Plain who catcheth passes and selleth evil opium to children, like unto the thuggish Auburnian ones of olde. And in the ancient time of 1996, the White Powder Man conspireth to enter into the holy and forbidden place, the Dawgly End Zone, which is a transgression punishable by the instant and toothly deprival of manliness. And the White Powder Man believeth not the warnings, and approacheth the End Zone, where dwelleth the sacred dawg named Uga. And being foolish and unbrainly, he taunteth the Great Dawg, and the sacred dawg entereth the White Powder Man’s End Zone promptly, teeth bared, and removeth said manliness so that the White Powder Man needeth much of his own sniffly snortation forthwith. And it is said that the only white line he crosseth that day was the one which entereth his nostrils. But the People of the Dawg riseth up and entereth the Tiger Eagle End Zone repeatedly, even unto four overtimes, and great was the rejoicing among men of good dawgliness.

And lo, the ancient tale is told again, to all young Tiger Eagles whom cherisheth their budding manliness and wouldst not have it removed by toothly caninish surgery. For the Tiger Eagles of the Jungle Plains, they who changeth their heads and symbols like unto Pez containers, are an arrogant and taunting people. They are the people of Dye the Drunkenly and Tater Tot the Tiny, yet they are arrogant and taunting. They are the people owned forth in slavery by the Tuscaloosish Tide People, yet they are arrogant and taunting. They are the people who throweth toilet tissue in the trees of Toomer’s Corner and thinketh it to be a manly and tribely tradition, yet they are arrogant and taunting.

Hear, O Pezzly War/Tiger/Eagles of the loveliest Village/Jungle/Plains, thy End Zone shall be desecrated once again by Musa the Marauder and the artillery of the Greene Machine. Thy womanly quarterbacks shall disappear forth in a steaming pile of Pollackipation. Even the biceps of Itty Bitty Billy Bennett the Bootmaster shall prove too powerful for thy maidenly feebleness.

Yea, beat thy chests, taunt forth, bringeth forth the smackliness, and feed lustily on thy confidence from thy wimpish victory over Lousy Anna Monroe, for the People of the Dawg are One People under One name, not Schizoidish Pezzly dispensers of candy such as that dispensed by the White Power Man. We are Dawgly Warriors. We seek forth the rightful throne of the home in the Dome, which we maketh our own.

And merciless shall be thy treatment, for the Loveliest Village/Jungle/Plains shall become a field of slaughter. And the head of Richt the Righteous shall be anointed with Gatorade, and he shall be carried upon the shoulders of the victorious warriors to the presence of Tommy Twerp-earville the Talkmaster, he whom proclaimeth championships and delivereth not. And Richt the Righteous shall reach forward with manly hands and rip off the great flapping ears of the Talkmaster, and hold them aloft, even as a trophy. And they shall be shredded and sprinkled over the great Alpo feast of Uga, as seasoning. And this shall be an act of mercy, for then the Earless Talkmaster shall heareth not the endless whining of they whom boast in season and whimper offseason, even the Pez People.

And the People of the Dawg shall travel to the Dome of the Dominant, even in their SUVs, even in their RVs, even upon foot, in a great triumphal parade. And the Big Dawg shall lift forth his leg and mark his new territory, and await the feebleness of westernly challenge. Amen.

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