Behold ye the words of the prophet, precious as gold! Partake of his trusty truths, sturdy as iron! Inhale deeply the the gastric winds of his ill-digestion, sounding forth like a celestial choir of tupperware burpifications.
Yea, kneel before the hunkering holy man as he imparteth the profound pigskinacious profundities of his preachments. And bring before him thy generous thank offerings, be they fine, plump woodchuck cutlets, or possum-kabob grilled upon the holy fire of thy tailgate, or perhaps a fair and comely daughter freshly come of age, yea, especially the blondish ones. The prophet accepteth also Visa and Mastercard, and is registered forth at many fine department stores that his china pattern and crystal may be known by all peoples, the feeble and manly alike. The prophet accepteth all the denominations of the faith–tens, twenties, and hundreds are denominations particularly gladsome to his spirit and a steadfast blessing upon his stock portfolio.
Heareth ye then WORDS OF DOOM for the TIDISH ELEPHANT PEOPLE OF THE BEAR. For have they not fashioned unto themselves graven images of their Bearish chieftain, bowing down before bobble-headed likenesses, fashioned by Hong Kong sweatshop hordes? Lo, hath not the Bear slept uneasily ENOUGH in his tomb, with rumors of Price the Promiscuous engorged in his harem, girded up in his red elephant underwear and panting forth, “It rolleth, baby, it rolleth!” Behold, Price showeth forth that HE was man enough, yea, even unto two wenches at a time. And now cometh the Bearish Bobble-Heads! Woe be unto ye, Tribes of Tidesaloosa, for Attila the Hun walketh reincarnated among you, and ye remaketh him into Bozo the Clown. Surely it is Low Tide in Aladambama.
And so shall the PEOPLE OF THE DAWG reduce ye to elephant droppings upon the Sacred Sod of Saintly Sanford, the Holy Hedges Hallowed by the Hammering Hooves of Herschel. Bring forth thy Shulafied Shambles. We shall spoil thy Croyle, that thy Shaud be a fraud. Behold, thy Smiley shall leave as a Frowney. And the Richtian Regiment shall feast on thy inmost parts, as we proclaimeth the first FEAST OF RAMA-DAM-BAMA JAM. And drunken with the heady grog of victory, the People of the Dawg shall tailgate forth into the twilight, and girdeth their loins for another invasion of the Hickolean Hill People, and more Munsonish Moments, and Hobnailish Havoc.
And somewhere to the west, the ghost of the Bearish Barbearian shall grumble forth yet again, emit a sorrowful belch to maketh the earth rumble above him, and tumble restlessly in his grave yet again. AMEN.