Ooga: The Clemsonite Prophecy – 8/28/2003

And lo, in the thirteenth battle of the second year of the righteous reign of St. Mark, the prophetic word of the prophet cometh TRUE, and the Year of the DAWG ensueth, and the Dome of Dawgly Domination reeketh of bacon, and the Street of Bourbon overfloweth with lordly liquored legions of the faithful, yea, the hunkering hordes of the Dawgnation, barking forth and screaming manly shouts of triumph and sprinkling forth their fluids on fire hydrants, and selling forth uglified Nolish yankee-wenches into slavery among the feeble tribes of the ACC. South Carolina state champions were the People of the Dawg, yet the Great Dawg sayeth, “Behold, Big Whoop.” And state champions of the Aladam-bamians were the People of the Dawg, yet the Great Dawg sayeth, “Verily: Big Whoop.” And state champions of the Hickolean Hill regions and yea, even the holy land of GEORGIA itself were the People of the Dawg, and the Great Dawg even so, sayeth, “Big Whoop, yippy.” And CHAMPIONS OF THE SEC were the People of the Dawg, and the Great Dawg sayeth: “ICE whoop.”” For great was the whooping forth of pigly ice in the Great Dome of Domination. And merciless was the beatdown.

For lo, long and hellish was the offseason, and the time of testing cometh forth, so that DEMONS riseth up and maketh the Dawgly Hordes to pawneth their rings of power, and inhaleth the weed of funkiness, and maketh illegal lane changes and turneth up the rap music too darn loud. And the demons striketh with their little pitchforks and inflicteth various and sundry injuries upon the great warriors of the People of the Dawg, until there was weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth among the Dawgly hordes.

Then cometh, as if from the sky, a growl like thunder, and a bark that maketh the earth tremble, and a great licking sound until the People of the Dawg knoweth that the Great Dawg walketh the earth, and straineth at the leash. And it raineth yellow on North Avenue. And lo, there was also a great sucking sound, and it cometh out of lower South Carolina. And the Hunkering Hermit cometh forth to say, “O ye of little faith! Know ye not that the People of the Dawg are a MIGHTY people, and the Clueless Clodhopping Clemsonites are weak of mind and unmanly? For there is, in the more northerly regions, the land of North Carolina where dwelleth the academies of fine learning, Duke and UNC; and they letteth the refuse fall down into South Carolina, like unto a waste bin, and the lowliest of all falleth down to the bottom, to that place we calleth the Dung Heap of the Clemsonites.

“And this shall be a sign unto you. As ye cometh unto the land of the Clemsonites, ye shall see one thousand tractors, coming forth from every field, and ye shall smell the fertilizer, which clingeth to their orange overalls from the foul earth-heaps from which they bringeth forth their food to tailgate from the rears of their tractors. And lo, these aromatic people are the Sons of Clem (for no one knoweth the mother’s name). And 40 is the number of beatdowns put upon them by the People of the Dawg. And 13 is the number of years since the Clemsonites prevaileth, and 55 is the number of the BEATDOWN OF THE APOCALYPSE affixed upon their loathsome posteriors by the Texas Texters, their own fellow tractor people. And 5 will be the number of consecutive beatdowns when the sun setteth upon the Valley of Death. And great will come the cry from the Clemsonites, “Bring us Danny Ford! Gathereth him from the Rotary Clubs from which he speaketh, that he may deliver us from our bondage!” And the juice of tobacco chaws shall dribble forth from the gaps in their teeth as they weep and whine and wheedle, staining their orange overalls even more.

And swift shall be the healing of Dawgly injuries, and finished shall be the suspensions, and MEAN shall be the great manly warriors of the PEOPLE OF THE DAWG as they return to the holy hedges of Sanford. And they returneth from DEATH VALLEY as they sayeth,
“Yea, though I walk through the Valley
of the shadow of Death,
I shall fear no evil,
For Pollack the Pulverizer
is everywhere!”


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