Honestly, what the fuck is going on with the jockey? That strange little man with the weird helium voice and the coloured silk shirts. Seen a naked jockey? No hair ... none. Hairless like those Sphynx cats but much, much weirder. They are less built than my five-year-old daughter. When I hear a jockey interviewed, I freak out because I think it’s a fucked-up Muppet. They are Oompah Loompahs with money. They are the basis for the Randy Newman song, ‘Short People.’
‘They got little hands
Little eyes
They walk around
Tellin' great big lies
They got little noses
And tiny little teeth
They wear platform shoes
On their nasty little feet ‘...
sing it!
See what I’m saying?
These people have to sit in booster
seats at restaurants and they smack their pixie faces into the ground when they
sneeze. I asked one at Dooley’s Irish bar once where his pot of gold was ...
and never heard his soprano reply. Even the name of the jockey attire is weird.
Toque (the hat), lunettes (no idea), casaque (the shirt), breeches aka
pantaloons (or just pants in a normal world) ... but apparently a jockey is
regarded as being the 2nd most deadly job, after offshore fishing. Since the
beginnings of horse racing in Australia, 950 jockeys have lost their lives
while taking part in the sport. They can also often have eating disorders, such
as anorexia and suffer dehydration. Just that needs bitch slapping and for
striking those poor beasts with a whip ... which is possibly called something
indulgent like a ‘swank sticking’ or something ...
I know I’m not equine inclined, but
seriously. What the fuck?
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