Case Study #8

This was attached to a rock thrown through one of the office windows last night:

Why does fat chance have the same meaning as slim chance and is what chance is it when its between the two?

And Dr. Brian responds:

First, I'm not certain if there is just a simple typo in your crude submission (I mean really, a rock?), or if the voices in your head are so distracting that you cannot complete a grammatically correct sentence. Let's go with the second explanation, shall we? Much more interesting.

To be fair, I'll start by addressing the superficial question you posed in your amateurish attempt to mask the obvious dementia from which you suffer. (It's apparent that you desperately need validation in any way that you can get it, so if I can toss you a placebo nugget of such here and there, why not?)

Yes, it IS somewhat perturbing that "fat chance" and "slim chance" both refer to little guarantee of success. Kind of irritating, actually. Why can't the hillbillies who make up these colorful local idioms come to some type of official guideline? Don't they have a union? Have a convention, select ONE expression to be used by all, and be done with it.

Let's carry this a step further, and focus on the hazy concept of "chance" itself. Why are the masses always "taking a chance" and composing contradictory slogans about doing so? "Chance" is really not dependable, as we've seen by all the cases of 11-year-olds being arrested for downloading rap songs and adults losing their retirement because they trusted big corporations to have solid 401K's. Not a good track record.

I do understand the seductive allure of "chance". After all, that Swedish rock group, Abba, practically begged us to take a chance on them, and who wouldn't be swayed by rhyming lyrics, thigh-high disco boots, and male back-up singers that only know three words? The call was strong, indeed.

But what happened? Abba broke up. They lied to us. I can empathize that they were all miserable and sick of world fame and each other, but don't sing an enticing disco song seeking our fidelity and then run away and hide, releasing 47 different greatest hits compilations. It's rude.

Now that we've dispensed with analyzing your deceptive query concerning conflicting yokel expressions, let's move on to the meat of the matter:

This is really about Christmas when you were 7, isn't it?

All you really wanted was the Transformers toy with the built-in voice recorder and the Play-Doh Fuzzy Pumper Barber Shop. You didn't get either, instead receiving enough socks to last you until adulthood and that dumbass Candyland game that no one in your pre-puberty gang would dare admit to playing. You have been bitter ever since.

This is the real "chance" that torments you. You trusted Santa, and he hit the failblog. And the disappointments have continued throughout the years. Now you're all growed up, working for a huge company, and every time you open an email from corporate you realize that no one is going to give you the Fuzzy Pumper. Sucks.

But you need to move on. I can help you with that. Please speak with Lanae at the front desk to arrange your sessions. Be sure to mention that you are a "red flag". Relax, though, that doesn't mean what you think. Just have faith in me.

Sincerely,
Dr. Brian

P.S. Seriously, dude. A rock through the window?