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June 29, 2009
Fifty-Fifty
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I hate fifty-fifty choices, because I always pick the wrong one. In fact, I'll lose on anything that has less than a 100% chance of success. My car looks like a pile of scrap metal that's been glued together. I have a robot with a big antenna that rolls next to me during lightning storms. I call him Blasty, the charred bot.
Thankfully, picking up sluts has a 100% chance of success. I just hang out at the bar with a beer bottle held suggestively in front of my pants, and they congregate like fruit flies. But even such a surefire thing is fraught with peril, as you can see in today's comic. Chance crops its ugly head up when you least expect it.
It's probably more a matter of perception than anything (emphasis on "probably"). You don't notice the things that go your way, but you sure as shit notice when everything around you goes down in flames. I imagine this explains the current economic situation.
"Sir, this illegal bullshit scheme has just netted us a 100% profit."
"Oh shit yes!"
"Sir, we're still making ass tons of money."
"Good lord we're awesome."
"Sir, we just went bankrupt, and a guy with a rifle named Bruno is asking for you."
"The rifle's name is Bruno? What's the guy's name?"
"..."
Ah the challenges of probability and grammar.
I had a 99% chance of writing a good post today. Sorry.
~Fuzzy
