butchering the language
Tuesday, June 10th, 2003
R: God, I’m knackered.
S: You’re naked?
R: I am kuh-nack-er-ed. A knacker is a horse butcher. I am drained to my sinews, like a horse’s carcase hanging on a hook. You Americans, there’s no colour in your language at all.
S: That’s because we don’t glorify horse slaugher.
R: One time I said to Jeremy: “I like horses! And French food!” And he said: “Sometimes they’re the same thing!”
S: Eeuw.
R: So anyway, how are you?
S: Knackered.
