Chances

"Sure is hot. I've never seen it this hot before."

"Oh, hot shmot!" scoffs Frank. "I've seen way hotter than this!"

"So, what do you suppose our chances are?" That's Petey, of course. We ignore him.

"Oh, really?" I smirk. "And just when and where would that have been?"

"Oh, you know," Frank waves vaguely. "Back when. In that other place."

"Sure," I snicker.

"But our chances," Petey insists. "It's so hot! I don't think we can take this."

"Chances shmances!" snorts Frank. "We're fine!"

"How do you figure?" whines Petey.

"Well, ... we're very firmly packed, for one thing," shrugs Frank. "That always helps."

"What does that sign say?" sniffs Petey. "I can't read."

"Sure," I reply helpfully. "It says, 'Abandon all hope ... uh, something, something.'" I don't read that well myself. After all, we're just ...

"What do you think our chance are now?" cries Petey. "I think I'm melting."

Frank is already a small puddle of water. I have to say something.

"Gosh, I'd say we have a human's chance on earth of surviving this."