Sunday, December 28, 2008

Lady Luck

Cadmore End, Buckinghamshire.

Whenever a person wants to suggest that the likelihood of something happening is nil, or thereabouts, he’ll generally say that there’s “a fat chance” of its occurrence. In other words, the chance is so bloated and so disgustingly overweight that, because of its obscene physical condition, it cannot possibly come to fruition.

This causes me some concern.

You see, if a “fat chance” is basically no chance at all, then, conversely, whenever a chance's BMI becomes progressively reduced, its likelihood of happening should be correspondingly greater. Logical, yes?

You'd think so, but no.

Going way down the scale, a “slim chance” is, in fact, actually regarded as being little better than a fat one. Indeed, in many cases it’s synonymous and only used because of the demands of etiquette. For example, if you ask a doctor “Will I survive this triple-whammy of AIDS, Lhassa fever, and an anally inserted jack-handle?”, rather than replying, “Are you fucking joking? There’s a fat chance of that!” he’ll normally try to let you down gently by saying something along the lines of , “The chances are only slim, I’m afraid.” Whichever, they both mean the same.

So what, in weight terms, does constitute an acceptable likelihood? Worryingly, extrapolating from the above, we can only conclude that it’s a chance that carries even less weight than a slim chance. We're talking a “Size 00 Chance” or a “Sickeningly Emaciated Chance.” The sort of chance, in other words, that puts its fingers down its throat after every meal and throws up. The sort of chance that, if it were on a beach, would repeatedly get sand kicked its face by bullies but wouldn’t ever have the option of rectifying the condition by buying a Charles Atlas Dynamic Tension course.

Henceforth, therefore, when we hear the term “Lady Luck”, we should picture, not some voluptuous maiden, but an anorexic Karen Carpenter or Lena Zavaroni lookalike who, if invited to blow on your dice in order to enhance your chances and bring you luck, would in all likelihood follow through by puking all over them (and you), too. Little wonder, then, that “the house always wins” when it comes to gambling.

5 comments:

Ron Broxted said...

Lassie fever?In which the poor afflicted bastards runs across Scotland trying to locate Roddie MacDowell?

Ron Broxted said...

Can I grovel,grovel ask your advice?I've done a few bits for a paper (not the Torygraph) and they seem to like them.At what point would a gentleman ask for an "ex merces"?I am annoyed that a famous journo ripped off a quote of mine.Luke 20:25 KJV. OK its not my quote but he never struck me as the biblical type.Money!How much?(I'd settle for a few quid).

Joe Slavko said...

It depends entirely on what the "bits" are. Are they fully fledged features? How long have you been doing them?

Ron Broxted said...

Almost a month.Does it go on word count?Theyre pretty short,sort of august deliberations on the state of the nation,eastern europe.Think an upmarket Shanghai with toned down police comments.Whats the going rate?I'm the only blogger what has made it to the frot page. (Lisbon treaty).

Joe Slavko said...

What's the paper? Typically, a national will pay between £200 (something like The Indpendent) to £350 per thousand words (Times and Telegraph) or part thereof.