Letters to Ooga (including Hickolean prophecy) – 10/9/2003

Dear Ooga,
My name is Henry and I am 5-years-old and I would like to play for the Dawgs when I get big and how can I get big?
HENRY OF SNELLVILLE

Dear Henry,
As a budding young dawgling, my child, thou must first gird up thy loins and overthrow thy wee boon companions on the playground. Craft thyself a seemly weapon; Ooga suggesteth thou embellish thy kickball with spikes and affix a chain of iron. Brandish it with manly gore-lust and feed thy Cub Scout mates the belching flame of thy wrath. But lo, little one, do not flay the comely little wenches. These ye must keep in trust for the prophet’s eventual use. The prophet shall give thee counsel concerning wenchcraft when thou comest of age and sprouteth the first bristles of thy manly beard, usually at age 7.
HE WHO HUNKERS FORTH

Dear Ooga,
I am honey-blonde and thirtyish with a new love in my life. Elwood is an international women’s fragrance magnate. After a whirlwind courtship we embarked hand in hand, heart in heart upon a life of domestic wedded bliss. After a dreamy honeymoon in Rio, O Ooga, we’re setting up housekeeping in Elwood’s family manor, Blandings of lower Lilburn. But alas! A problem of physical intimacy has troubled the bright beacon of our wedded delight. I am a former gymnast and ..

Dear Ooga,
Um, I hate to interrupt, but what’s all this &*^%$^*# mailroom #$(&?? We want the DANG PROPHECY!!! Me, Squat-n-Honk-Dawg, and BigBoogerDawg are leaving for Knoxious Knukesville in about ten minutes! Don’t wanna be rude but can you GET TO THE GOOD STUFF? Just type out hickolean hill people and Phulmer the Phoul and a few good’uns like that, that’s all we need.
HAIRY-NOSTRILS-DAWG

Dear Hairy-Nostils-Dawg,
Flay thyself and consume thy own fresh entrails. The prophet diggeth his public.
THE PROPHET OF POOCHLINESS; THE DEAN OF DAWGLINESS

Dear Ooga,
Did you know Casey Clausen’s successor is either a) L’il Ice Man (Rick Clausen) or b) JIM BOB COOTER? Rumor is, Thomas Davis’ll be chasin’ Cooter all over town! Haw haw! (snort)
LOOGIE-HAWKIN-DAWG

Dear Ooga,
Where you at? Took me a yar to figger out what be a hobnail boot, & a nuther’un to save up to buy one. Now I’m comin’ to put a big urnge-chekkered hobnailer all the way up yer smokies to yer rocky top. Just tell me where you at?
HICKOLEAN HUGH OF THE HILL PEOPLE

Dear Ooga,
C’mon, gimme some credit, the Jim Bob Cooter thing, it’s TRUE! You gotta admit that’s funny! For that, take this mental image: a rematch of Freakin Friedgen vs Phat Foul, this time sumo-rasslin.
LOOGIE-HAWKIN DAWG

DEAR HICKOLEAN HILL PEOPLE,
LO, MANY AND MISERABLE were the years of Vast, Vile, Villainous Vollish Vanquishment in the dark ages of dawgliness. And in that day came many such as Raynoch the Repulsive, Chaplain of the Cheap Shot; Peyton the Heismanless, revealer of his hindquarters to training wenches; and various and sundry heinous hickolean hooligans. THEN cometh the new millennium, bringing forth Richt the Righteous and Greene the Groovemaster, SMITELY SMASHERS of Phulmer the Phoul and Phlabby.

THREE TIMES prevaileth the People of the Dawg in victory. THREE TIMES hath Clausen the Clueless munched upon the gore-sprinkled sod of Saintly Sanford and Kneeless of Knoxville. And Jabari the Jabber-wocky, returneth he not to the tasty Peach Bowl of his desires?

HEAR, O HAPLESS HUNKS O’ HICKOLEAN HALF-WITLERY! Kneeless of Knoxville holdeth no fear for the People of the Dawg. The screechings of thy scruffy scalawags are no more than phulmerly phlatulence, though we beseech thee to aim carefully in thy snuff-spittings.

Phulmer the Flabmeister couldst not out-scheme Van Halen, how then shall he outsmarteth Van Gorder? Davis the Devastator and Pollack the Pulverizer, hath they not enjoyed many quarterbacks for between-meal snacks? The Devastator shall squeeze until the helmet poppeth off Clausen’s Rocky Top; the Pulverizer shall plant forth his cactusly cranium in the soil, and Uga VI shall provide fertilizer, that there shall grow forth a memorial to Dawgly Domination in the Halls of Hickolean Heroism.

And Clausen, the Great Sour Pickle Tree, shall blossom upon the Power Tee at midfield, named for the power of Tee’s bank account; that henceforth no one shall stomp forth upon it again without getting spikes in their spikes. AMEN.

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