Re: Out of work? Got IT skills? Then get drafted! by Jtyc
Jtyc
Wed May 05 11:18:11 CDT 2004
Good evening!
The last scene was interesting from the point of view of a professional
logician because it contained a number of logical fallacies -- that is,
invalid propositional constructions and syllogistic forms -- of the type so
often committed by my wife.
"All wood burns," states Sir Bedevere. "Therefore," he concludes, "all that
burns is wood."
This is, of course, pure bullsh*t! Universal affirmatives can only be
partially converted. All of Alma Cogan is dead, but only some of the class
of dead people are Alma Cogan. Obvious one would think.
However, my wife does not understand this necessary limitation of the
conversion of a proposition. Consequently, she does not understand me. For
how can a woman expect to appreciate a professor of logic if the simplest
cloth-eared syllogism causes her to flounder.
For example: given the premise, "All fish live underwater" and "All mackerel
are fish", my wife will conclude, not that "All mackerel live underwater",
but that "If she buys kippers it will not rain" or that "Trout live in
trees" or even that "I do not love her any more."
This she calls "using her intuition". I call it "crap" and it gets me very
IRRITATED because it is not logical!
"There will be no supper tonight," she will sometimes cry upon my return
home.
"Why not?" I will ask.
"Because I have been screwing the milkman all day," she will say, quite
oblivious of the howling error she has made.
"But," I will wearily point out, "even given that the activities of screwing
the milkman and getting supper are mutually exclusive, now that the screwing
is over, surely then, supper may, logically, be got."
"You don't love me any more!" she will now often postulate. "If you did, you
would give me one now and again so that I would not have to rely on that
rancid Pakistani for my orgasms!"
"I will give you one after you have got me my supper!" I now usually scream,
"but not before" -- as you understand, making her bang contingent on the
arrival of my supper.
"God, you turn me on when you're angry, you ancient brute!" she now
mysteriously deduces, forcing her sweetly throbbing tongue down my throat.
"F*ck supper!" I now invariably conclude, throwing logic somewhat joyously
to the four winds, and so we thrash about on our milk-stained floor,
transported by animal passion, until we sink back, exhausted, onto the
cartons of yogurt....
I'm afraid I seem to have strayed somewhat from my original brief. But in a
nutshell, sex is more fun than logic. One cannot prove this, but it IS in
the same sense that Mount Everest IS, or that Alma Cogan ISN'T.
Goodnight.
