I used to think golf was the supreme snob sport. Then I found out about croquet. You know, at least in golf, there’s some physical challenge. I mean, some of the times you actually have to hit the ball hard. But croquet? You just smack a little ball through a little hoop. None of it leaves the ground. There’s no concept of physical prowess, just swinging a little paddle at a little ball. It’s like putt-putt for the prissy.
And polo? Christ almighty. They can’t even walk around by themselves, they have to ride horses to where the fucking ball is. Basically, polo is for people too rich to play croquet, so they need expensive race horses to help them do it.
But badminton… Fuck. That’s not even funny. At least with croquet or polo, you can watch rich white people making asses of themselves. But god, badminton is just depressing. It’s just god damned pitiful, really. Even poor minority people watching that, have an uncontrollable feeling of remorse for those poor rich bastards’ pride.
The net’s lower, the rackets are lighter, and the little thing you hit moves much slower. It’s the perfect snob sport, because it’s a pussy sport. I mean, how could you possibly be shitty at this sport? Be in a fucking coma?
And who the hell came up with the name for the thing you hit?
It’s called a shuttlecock, for those of you who’ve never taken the time to learn about this sport, which, if you haven’t, just fucking don’t. It’s a shuttlecock. A shuttleCOCK. First of all, there’s no way in anyone’s mind you could confuse this with a rooster, so I’m sure that that wasn’t the concept they were trying to get across with the name. I’m pretty sure that they could have easily have called this a ’shuttlepecker’, ’shuttledong’, or possibly even, ’shuttlewoody’, and no meaning would have been lost.
“Are you ready to play badminton, Sir?”
“Indeed. I have my racket, do we have the impossibly easy net up yet?”
“We do.”
“Good. Hand me my feathered-penis, it’s time to go whoop some ass.”
And… shuttle? SHUTTLE? What the fuck are you shutteling?!? A “Shuttle” invites some concept of moving cargo or personel, possibly into the sky, or even over water. Is that what this is?
Although, I can kind of understand one thing. If you’re really willing to play badminton in public, you might as well just chop off your own dick and attach a bunch of feathers, because, let’s face it, you aren’t going to be using that anytime soon. Might as well smack around your pesky with a racket, because, other than taking a wizz, you sure as hell won’t need it. Just go ahead and attach your nuts to it as well, now you’ve got fucking rocket boosters on your shuttled-cock.
And, let’s face it, I’m pretty sure that the scientists at NASA have never named a part of the space shuttle after this, either. Can you imagine what part of the space shuttle the cock is? Is that the tube that runs from the big fuel tank to the shuttle part?
“Well Gary, our designs are almost complete, but, well, we’re running out of names for all of the little teeny-tiny parts we have in there.”
“Well, like what?”
“Well, we can’t figure out what to call these things, the stuff that spurts fuel into the shuttle right before it launches.”
“Hmmmm. Instead of calling it something vaguely scientific sounding and complicated to remember, we’ll just pick something easy: That’ll be the shuttles’ prick.”
“And this one?”
“Well, as long as we’re using dirty words, let’s call this the cunt, this one the clit, and this thing the bunghole. That’ll work.”
“And what about this protective plate between the two injection ports?”
“Hmmmm. How about the taint?”
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