Before Saying Yes was even Thinking Maybe.
Before Circle Jerk at the Square Dance was even 1 Degree of Arc of Impure Thought of Hokey Pokey
Before Blue Girl Red State was even Off White Eye Twinkle
Before Oakland Dilettante was even something even more less than even more
Before Befouled was even Besmirched
Before Empire of the Senseless was even A Hovel of the Mildly Perturbed
Before Freelance Genius was even a Contract Worker of Average Intelligence
Before doop HQ was even an oop and a Q? (come on)
Before Chrome Beach was even a Foilwad Sandbox
Before Really Small Fish was even Tiny Fry
Before the universe gave birth to the earth in a horrendous, silent and improbable labor. Back in time, where poop shooters were musical, and the Canadian Curling Association was denounced in hilarious and appropriate moderation, where Ketchup chips were dared and dreamed. While antimatter was still selfishly engaging in an unforgivable and obtuse quest to annihilate all matter, there were Three Bulls! and The Republic of Dogs. Even though the former could be described as a delightful and exuberant collection of je ne sais quoi, and the latter encased in a design style that could only be described in polite circles as “Mount Trashmore on a Trashy Triscuit.” Not content to simply exist, these early formed particles of matter set out on a parallel path of constant degradation and ritual denunciation of creamy lovers, overheard buffoons, and various flim-flam artists. They grew up into the greener pastures that you now know. Holiday baking was in fact dared. Controversy during such was courted, and even bed down in ways unseemly to prevailing mores. Blue girl was declared an unlikely winner. All was not right in the universe, yet it strangely was. Times have since changed. We are no longer safely ensconced in our onesy jammies with the sleeper footies. We recognize change, and while it chafes, burns, itches, etc. we are unable to reject it.
It has been requested that Mr. Pinko Q. Punko and possibly but no way proven related Capt. Trolly Q. Pants, Esq. no longer comment at or even about Republic of Dogs. Instead of being anathema to our very souls, we instead sadly recognize that an era has come to a close. No more comments at or about Republic of Dogs. We note for the record and for posterity that battle raps do not fall under the provenance of the current decree and shall proceed accordingly.
May you all eat it in peace.