Koko: Welcome to the bottom half of the draw at Roland Garros. What do we learn from the tedious, Donald Rumsfeld-style stacking of odds against defending champion Rafael Nadal? Well, it reminds us that money is always the bottom line, motivating, structuring, and mastering our lives like a goddamn spreadsheet. Why did I assume tennis was different, as though it somehow dodged the mercantile ethic that corrupts all other sports? Idiot, I am, not connecting the fact that ninety percent of ATP events are sponsored by banks to the inevitable piss-potting of the king of clay. Even worse, maybe now I have to admit that Redbelt, though clearly awful, didn't get everything wrong. This is a very low moment for me. Fuck the ATP. I sure hope tennis exists somewhere else.
And if either of you chuckleheads makes a joke about this, even the cutest, fuzziest, loveliest little joke about moonrabbits and daisies, I'll castrate you with a pair of rusted scissors. And this is Boris talking. From now on, Boris. Everywhere it is Boris.
Slothrop:
Boris: Malaka. What did I tell them? This is a mistake; he means to post the Red Cross flag and gets confused by funny sideways X and same colors. Even Slothrop would not support Swiss Miss, now that French idiots hand him the tournament. No, Slothrop is silly, he is not so ignorant.
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