“Two out of three ain’t bad.”
What??!! Who the fuck says?
Two out of three is 66.67% — THAT’S A FUCKING “D.”
Don’t give me that shit about how two out of three ain’t bad, you goddamn underachiever.
If your heart stopped beating one out of every three times, I bet you’d call someone to find out what the fuck was happening — I mean, what are you, a tough-guy or something? Who are you, Bruce fucking Willis? What is this, the Nakatomi Plaza? Let’s do the math, genius. For every twelve members of Hans’ gang, you’re only going to kill eight? For every twelve members of his gang you’re actually gonna leave four motherfuckers alive to run around in the stairwells and shit? Party’s over pal! You gotta kill ALL those motherfuckers!
If your heart was beating two out of every three times and you asked your doctor what the hell was going on with your fucked up heart and he beamed a coquettish smile at you and said, “two out of three ain’t bad” — you wouldn’t be acting all precious THEN, would you, you haughty asshole?
Two out of three is kind of a shitty range anyway. It’s only three numbers. What if I asked you, “Okay, on a scale from one to three, three being best, how would you rate your present relationship?” You’d probably say, “Hey c’mon man, that ain’t enough numbers… I know we ain’t a perfect three, but I’m pretty sure we’re better than a two… Maybe a 2.75?” I didn’t ask you for a fraction — You know damned well I wanted a whole number, idiot! If we could trust you with fractions we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now!
You wanna know what’s ain’t bad? Eight out of ten. Hard to go wrong with eight out of ten. Of all the times it’s come up, I have always been able to take pride in having gotten eight out of ten. Not once did I ever feel shame for having gotten eight out of ten.
Or twenty-one in a range of twenty-five. That ain’t bad either. If I had twenty-five units of something, and I gave you twenty-one of them, you’d probably think I was pretty freaking generous, right? You’d probably even write me a thank-you note like you were on Davey and Goliath or something.
And I’d say that if you scored 218 out of 219 that ain’t bad — because it’s more like PRETTY FUCKING GOOD!
So let’s think about the bullshit that comes out of your mouth next time, okay princess? And keep the curbside mathematics to a minimum. Save the numbers for hopscotch.
[c] 2003 Russ of America
Reprinted from an ancient LiveJournal account
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