[ WP ] A newly-hired bartender is slowly realizing that he 's working at the bar from all of those `` X walks into a bar '' jokes .

An infinite number of mathematicians walk into a bar. 
 
 The first says to the bartender, `` I'll have one beer, please.'' 
 
 The second says `` Half a beer, for me.'' 
 
 The third says `` Come with me if you want to live.'' 
 
 With an aggressive arm, he forces a path through which he and the bartender can escape. 
 
 “ Come on! ” the mathematician screams. 
 
 “ What the hell is going on? ” the bartender demands, as the mathematician leads him by the wrist through a herd of thirsty PhD students. 
 
 “ Can ’ t talk right now! We ’ ve got ta make it to safety! ” 
 
 “ Well, you ’ re going the wrong way, then, ” says the bartender, seeing around fifty professors singing ‘ Tom Sawyer ’ in front of the exit. “ Come on, I ’ ll take you to the back room. ” 
 
 In between the two of them and the back room stands a dozen high school math teachers. 
 
 “ I got this, ” the mathematician whispers, then yells “ Pi sucks! Tau ’ s so much better. ” 
 
 It works just as planned; the path clears up, and aside from having to dodge a few flying fists from the ensuing riot, the two make it to the back room in no time. 
 
 As the bartender locks the door, the two hear a pounding, and then a muffled voice asking “ yo, can I get one nonillion, two hundred and sixty-seven octillion, six hundred and fifty septillion, six hundred sextillion, two hundred and twenty-eight quintillion, two hundred and twenty-nine quadrillion, four hundred and one trillion, four hundred and ninth-six billion, seven hundred and three million, two hundred and five thousand, three hundred and seventy-sixth of a beer? ” 
 
 “ They ’ re already up to a hundred, ” the mathematician remarks without missing a beat. 
 
 “ How— “ 
 
 “ Powers of two, baby. We don ’ t have much time, it seems. We ’ re dealing with a serious overpopulation problem, here. Where ’ s the remote for this TV? ” 
 
 “ Listen, I don ’ t think this is the time to catch up on Doctor Who. ” 
 
 The mathematician ’ s hand lays distraught in his spiky blonde hair; he finds no amusement in the remark. “ Trust me. ” 
 
 The bartender throws him the remote. 
 
 “ Forty-six for news. ” 
 
 The mathematician pushes the remote. He pushes again, harder. Nothing. 
 
 “ Shit, the battery must be dead. ” He climbs up to the TV and starts cycling up the channels. 
 
 “ Why do you need to see the news, anyway? ” [ 3 ] 
 
 “ Because, if this is the best case scenario, then we ’ ll see Times Square flooded with Rubik ’ s Cube t-shirts. ” [ 10 ] 
 
 “ And what ’ s the worst case scenario? ” [ 15 ] 
 
 “ This bar becomes a black hole. ” [ 19 ] 
 
 “ FUCK! … That ’ s a bad thing, right? ” [ 23 ] 
 
 “ Not too bad, if you don ’ t mind total planetary annihilation. ” [ 28 ] 
 
 “ I do. I do mind. Why ’ d there be a black hole? ” [ 34 ] 
 
 “ If these mathematicians aren ’ t spreading throughout the world, their collective density will soon be great enough to collapse into a quantum singularity, forming a black hole. ” [ 42 ] 
 
 “ Sounds shitty. Hey, uh, while we ’ re waiting, I got ta know, why didn ’ t you ask— “ 
 
 Forty-six. 
 
 “ BREAKING NEWS — an unprecedented event that may change the course of our planet ’ s history, right now, on IMN. ” 
 
 The two look on with racking suspense. 
 
 “ Nipples belonging to Kim Kardashian have been spotted — “ The fear in the mathematician ’ s eyes is palpable as he switches off the TV. 
 
 “ We can do something about this… right? ” the bartender pleads. 
 
 “ I don ’ t know. This is out of my field of research. ” 
 
 “ No shit! Hey, you were one of the people who came in, right? What do you know about that? ” 
 
 “ I can ’ t seem to remember how I got here. ” 
 
 “ Do you remember anything? What ’ s your name? ” 
 
 “ I… can ’ t recall. ” 
 
 “ Oh, man… Well, my name is Mel, and you can be, uh, Einstein. ” 
 
 “ I ’ m a mathematician, not a physicist. ” 
 
 “ You remember that much. ” 
 
 “ Of course I do. Everyone that ’ s shown up is a mathematician — “ Einstein ’ s eyes light up. 
 
 “ Wait a minute — I remember something! When I showed up, there were two guys, both mathematicians, in front of me, and another guy right beside me. Behind me, four mathematicians showed up. Always mathematicians. ” 
 
 “ Yeah, so? ” 
 
 “ That ’ s exponential population growth! The amount of growth depends on the size of the current population. In this case, it grows by exactly as big as it is. It seems that the mathematicians will bring on the arrival of more mathematicians. ” 
 
 “ Okay. ” 
 
 “ There isn ’ t an infinite number of mathematicians, they ’ re just populating faster than the universe gets rid of them, asymptotically speaking. ” 
 
 “ I was totally thinking the same thing. ” 
 
 “ So, we just have to get rid of them exponentially. The problem is, how can we possibly match their rate of growth? We ’ d have to have an infinite energy source to off that many mathematicians. ” 
 
 “ We don ’ t have to kill them. ” 
 
 “ I don ’ t see an alternative. ” 
 
 “ Well, you said that mathematicians means more mathematicians. Why don ’ t we just make them forget? ” says the bartender, clutching a bottle of Jack Daniels as emphasis. 
 
 “ Okay — assuming this asinine method actually works — how are we going to spread the liquor exponentially? ” 
 
 “ Peer pressure? ” Mel deadpans. 
 
 “ Fuck it. I don ’ t have anything better. How much alcohol do you have? We need everyone to get plastered. ” 
 
 “ Hey, can ’ t I just poor two beers? Everyone ’ ll get how much they want, ” says Mel, recalling his time in pre-calculus. 
 
 “ Clever, but it won ’ t work. The last mathematician will get an infinitesimally small amount of beer — far less than one molecule ’ s worth. We ’ re geeks, but we ’ re not that much of lightweights. ” 
 
 The door starts to crack under the mass of mathematicians. 
 
 “ I ’ ll say. There ’ s a huge keg on the right side of the bar I have for special occasions. If we open that, they ’ ll get hammered. Then, we got ta hope the vomit passes on the alcohol when it ’ s gone. ” 
 
 “ Okay. ” 
 
 “ Now or never. ” 
 
 “ Right. ” The two bust through the door, hands held. Bodies flood through the opening, but they manage to stay on the top layer. 
 
 “ IT ’ S NO GOOD, THE KEG ’ S ALL BLOCKED OFF! ” Mel yells, barely audible over the near-infinite drone of TOS-TNG debates. 
 
 “ I ’ LL HANDLE THEM. YOU GO ON! ” Einstein ’ s grip loosens. Mel holds on. 
 
 “ I ’ M NOT LEAVING YOU IN THERE. ” 
 
 “ MAYBE BLACK HOLES ARE TAX DEDUCTIBLE. ” 
 
 “ ALL RIGHT, ALL RIGHT. TELL ME ONE THING BEFORE YOU GO — WHY DIDN ’ T YOU ASK — ” 
 
 “ WHAT? I CAN ’ T HEAR YOU. ” 
 
 “ I SAID, WHY DIDN ’ T YOU ASK FOR A DRINK? ” 
 
 Einstein has already slipped through. 
 
 “ HEY, EVERYBODY, I GOT A FRACTAL — IN MY PANTS! ” 
 
 Suddenly, Mel could see the keg, in all its glory. As his hands wrap around the lever, he looks back and sees Einstein ’ s blond spiky hair dip below the sea of bodies. 
 
 “ SOH-CAH-TOA later, ” Mel says, at a loss for something catchy to say, and pulls the lever with all his might. 
 
 The sun ’ s wrath wakes Mel up. Rough hangover, but he ’ s had worse. The passed out bodies of thousands upon thousands of mathematicians lay all around him. He gets up, tries to remember where Einstein went down — when suddenly, it hits him. 
 
 “ ‘ That about sums it up. ’ Shit, that ’ s way cooler than what I said. Oh well. ” 
 
 Einstein ’ s spiky blonde hair protrudes in the left corner of the bar. When Mel bends down to check for a pulse, Einstein sits up and vomits what, even in spite of everything, could only be described as an infinite stream. Einstein, wholly embarrassed, tries to stand up, with no luck. 
 
 “ I ’ m so sorry, erm… ” 
 
 “ Mel. ” 
 
 “ Hi, Mel, My name ’ s Gabe. I ’ d shake your hand, but… vomit and whatnot. ” 
 
 “ Well, Gabe, I ’ m don ’ t mean to judge, but you oughta learn your limits. ” 
 
 Gabe starts to chuckle, which escalates, until a little puke comes up. 
 
 “ What ’ s so funny? ” 
 
 “ I don ’ t drink. ”
