Hello, Wanderers, and welcome back!
You just have to come back, don't you?
What am I even talking about. Of course you're going to come back. I made sure of it. After all, I am the same, I keep coming back, keep writing and writing and writing--and what worth is a storyteller without a bard to sing his story and peasants and nobles alike to gather and marvel at his story?
Nothing.
So you have to come back. So that I will have a meaning in this endlessness. In this vast void merely filled by words unspoken but by this humble storyteller--by the worlds unremembered but by this mere Wanderer.
We're the same. So keep reading, fellow Wanderers, my tale woven in my very essence is waiting for your hungry eyes.
Scribble 22: Kill the Memes
Huygens hadn't even entered the bar, but already he could feel nausea filling his stomach.
Every once in a blue moon, the bar with bright red neon lamp spelling "Gunther's" could make a breakthrough in alcoholic cocktail--but then again a broken clock is right twice a day. Most of the time, their innovative thinking produced something that's barely not violating the international treaties on chemical weapon. Fooled by the first drink that he tried, Huygens agreed to try their new drinks every couple of weeks, but he quickly realized that the world isn't always butterflies and roses.
He did give them his honest opinion, shitty drinks are shitty, but he found himself unable to stop coming back, despite regretting every second he spent under the drinks' effects.
"It's probably memetic or something." Grimacing to himself, Huygens entered the bar, opening the double door with both hands.
"Huygens, my man!" The bartender proclaimed loudly as Huygens approached him.
"What's up?" Keeping his fear to himself, Huygens offered the bartender a high five, which he graciously responded to.
"A new drink, that's what!"
"Listen, after your last one, I honestly don't know if I want another of those..."
"Ah, I would agree that the sweet green beans brew was a bit of failure--"
"A bit?! That thing broke my stomach so bad I can't eat anything but porridge for three days!"
"Look, I'm sorry about that one. I did fix it, and I got no complaint after that--"
"You sure it's not because they're too busy screaming in pain at the hospital?"
"Wow boys, what do we have here?" A woman interrupted them just as Huygens got ready to throw his punch. He sighed, and unfurled his fist. "Didn't know you come here often, Huygens."
"It's a surprise to see you too, Doctor Robinson."
"Please, just call me Vanessa outside of work. Gunther, why don't you get the two of us some whiskey?"
"Got it."
"You could call me Rick then, if you don't mind."
"Nah, I know about a dozen Rick, I'll stick with Huygens. So, what's this sweet green beans business about?"
"I really don't want to talk about that." Gunther started to say something as he placed down their drinks, but someone called him from the other side of the bar.
"Well, then what do you want to talk about?" Before he realized, Vanessa already sat on the bar stool, toying with the whiskey glass. He awkwardly sat on the neighboring stool. "Surely you have some pick up lines, at least."
"Huh, Vanessa, how much drink did you have?"
"The night's young, I only had four or five. Why'd you ask?"
"No, nothing."
"Huh. I expected it to be a pretext for some cheesy pick up lines, but it's not? That got 2 out of ten." The awkward silence, mixed with the background music and crowd noise weighs into Huygens' mind. He decided to down his drink and just leave when Vanessa started saying something.
"Don't you think SNS are annoying?" She waved at Gunther, who gave Huygens a round of vodka.
"What do you mean?" Huygens' PDW suddenly felt very heavy in his jacket.
"It's bad enough when people made a cult out of radio and television broadcast. Now they could make it through internet, and these communities made it nigh-impossible to determine whether people actually worship a particular image of cat or it's just a 'viral memes'." Vanessa sipped at her whiskey. "The word 'memes' just gets more and more meaningless by the day."
"Vanessa, we can't discuss classified--"
"I know, I know. Geez. I'm talking as an old woman complaining about younglings' trends, not as a doctor. You're no fun at all. Gunther!" The bartender happily refilled her glass. "It's just that...these memes, man. They're driving me crazy."
"Tell me about it. The youngsters are always weird by their elder's standard."
"I know right? Though, I guess realizing that you're getting old is just as depressing as trying to make sense of those memes." The two of them sighed in unison, before breaking into laughter. Huygens could feel his blood racing through his body, warmed by the alcohol.
"Some of them do exhibit properties consistent with traditional memes." It was five whiskey and three vodka later that Vanessa started speaking about alarming topics, but Huygens was no longer sober enough to stop her. "A pattern, inherited in every iteration that grows into independent individuals, you get what I mean?"
"I don't think so, no." Though apparently his mind still worked well enough to know it's better for him to leave. "I think I'm drunk enough. I have to leave before I got too drunk to go home."
"Oh come on, am I that boring? I thought we're hitting it up pretty well."
"No, it's not that. I really have to go." Huygens paid his bill, and then started walking towards the door. Vanessa tried to follow after him, but the alcohol was affecting her more than she thought. She tangled her feet to the bar stool, and fell to the floor, causing a commotion that took Huygens' attention back on her.
"Hey, are you alright? Doctor? Hey, Gunther, get us an ambulance or something!"
Gunther looked over from across the bar, and with unchanging deadpan face, he asked:
"Is this Loss?"
Two ambulances were seen leaving Gunther's Bar that night.
And that is the last drop of my soul spilt.
