Ooga’s Third and Most Northwesterly Prophecy – 9/19/2002

And lo, there came a time when the Chattering Chicken People sorely displeased the Big Dawg in the Sky, and he decideth to smite them forth with three great plagues, that he may once again have bragging rights unto the next season.

And the first plague was the plague of monsoons, for the great rains poundeth the gray and grim gnarliness known as Lower Carolina. The great speedster Gibson smiteth them with the long pass, then cometh the torrential rains.

And the second plague was the plague of impotence, that their offense be forbidden from penetration of the Promised Land of the Dawgly End Zone, that they shall fumble and stumble and bumble forth all their days, even unto the great-grandchildren of Jenkins, and that their cockly eggs may be barren again, that their poultry may be paltry, even unto the days of their nuggetizing in Happy Meals. And forty years shalt they be coached by Skippy, and be embarrassed about it, and the Chicken Curse shall increase.

And worst and most devastating of all was the third plague which cometh from the mighty paw of the Great Dawg, for it was the Plague of the Pollack Frolic, when behold, Pollack the Pulverizer, Pollack the Powerful stalketh their Jenkins and robbeth him of his pigskin. From that day forth, Jenkins shall be bereft of manliness, and even the wenches of the drill team shall turn their faces from him, yay, even the portly wenches who playeth the tuba in the legions of they who march, even they shall beareth him no progeny. And the Big Dawg looketh down upon the Great Dead Roach of Williams-Brice and speaketh forth, saying, “Behold, I smiteth thee using only my defense! Old Dawg learneth new trick! Next season perhaps I useth only my offense, who knows?” And he lifteth his great Dawgly leg, and bringeth forth the fourth plague, being the second and yellow monsoon, just for good measure. And it only improveth the smell of Cockly Columbia. And even to this very day, Coach Lou the Gaseous clutcheth his knees and throweth his hat and thinketh of no more motivational sayings.

And lo, the People of the Dawg cometh home to the City of High and Holy Hedges, even Sacred Sanford, to preparest a living sacrifice to the Big Dawg in the Sky, as is their custom, though usually in the opening game. And great must the Hunkering Hermit cast about in the wisdom of his prophecies for something to insult, for those that would oppose them, being volunteers for the living sacrifice, are feeble and unworthy of comment. But lo, is this not why they pay Ooga the big bucks?

So hear these words, Demons of Northwestern State! Your feeble obscurity irritateth the prophet! For is not Louisiana in the Southeasterly wastes? Doth this not mean thou art truly Northwestern Southeastern? Doth not thy school have a Geography Department? Your puny attempts to confuse the Big Dawg are wretched and worthy of a Pollackly Pummeling, and it shall be administered, in northern quarters, southern quarters, eastern quarters, western quarters, and hindquarters. The horns of thy demons shall be extracted, and thy pitchfork shall be inserted deep within those valleys where the sun shineth not.

And the People of the Dawg shall unleash all manner of whoopitude upon thy hideous and womanly hindquarters, until thy runneth away unto the furthest corners of Northwestern Southeastern, only to findeth out you have used all four corners already. Ye can runneth but ye canst not hide! The Big Dawg openeth a big can of Pollack on thy I-AA feebleness, until thou shalt pray for Tulane to reveal unto you its own place of hiding. And the People of the Dawg shall tailgate forth, and imbibest grog both domestic and imported, and taketh unto themselves comely wenches, and be in general the coolest and most studly of all the reeking tribes. And lo, the great ranking of the People of the Dawg shall increase. For thou canst not spell Pollack without “poll.” Amen.

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