As the title implies, I wrote this to be very specifically like the Hitchhikers Guide. Of course, the plot is different, but I'm shooting for the same general style. The story, as it stands, is very much unfinished, but I'd like to get feedback on it thus far.
Ever since the Earth discovered hyperdrive and interstellar travel, the place had never been quite the same. There was a brief period of prosperity that immediately followed as each company on the planet was bought out by a much bigger rival somewhere else in the universe, but fairly soon the Earth discovered that it had no comparative advantage in anything, not even in manufacturing as too many civilizations were willing to pay to work due to different cultural traditions.
Once Earth became part of the universe, it went from being a moderately nice pitstop for alien tourists to an impoverished backwater.
Yet, the pub industry on Earth flourishes, largely thanks to Jack Daniels, the best liquor in the universe as featured in “Shots and Vomit” monthly out of the X-39 galactic cluster.
So it was that one day I went with a few friends of mine on a quick sojurn to one particular pub that stood on the outskirts of New New York City, and so it was that I found myself, several days later presumably, on the floor of an alleyway in a puddle of what smelled like Mamusk vomit.
As I awoke, I could do little more than grit my teeth, close my eyes, and say “Ooooooooo” in a very deep and mournful and completely insignificant kind of way.
“Good afternoon!” a cheerful voice said.
I briefly glanced around before recognizing the voice to be that of the alleyway. “How long have I been here?” I asked it.
“Six days, ten hours, twenty-six minutes, thirteen seconds, and counting. Do you require assistance of any kind? I am connected via numerous pathways to the human hospital on fifth street.”
I placed my hand against a brick and pulled myself up. “No, that’s fine. I’m fine. I mean, I’ll be fine. I mean, do you have any pills for a headache? I mean, do you have something like Tylenol?”
“Sorry sir, but I cannot deliver pills to you. My programming forbids me from doing so. However, I can point you in the direction to the nearest convenience store.”
“Yes, yes, that will do. Wait, I mean, er... listen, how did I end up here?”
“You came here of your own accord, sir. Six days, ten hours, twenty-eight minutes, and seventeen seconds ago you passed out here.”
“Ugh.”
“That’s what you said at the time sir.”
I thought about this briefly before ignoring it. “Um, do you know, uh, as to, er, who came with me? I mean, was there anybody with me?”
“Yes sir. Three men took you to this alleyway and after brief consultation between themselves about the matter, they beat you up.”
“Oh. Do you know who the men were?”
“Yes sir.”
“Can you tell me who they were?”
“No sir.”
“Why not?” I said completely annoyed with this alleyway.
“The privacy act forbids me to do so.”
“Well, is there anything else you can tell me?”
“Yes. The door to the bar is two feet to the right of you.”
That seemed like a good idea. “Oh, er, thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
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Since the universe is so large and infinite, nothing can be said to be unique. There’s always going to be someone else out there with your face, even your fingerprints, and every single thing you can possibly think of has already been thought of by another person. This notion of total non-uniqueness extends to all aspects of life, except to pubs.
Although this has been known for eons by college students and frat boys, and has certainly be known to the fraternity Alpha Gamma Pi * r^2 located on Epsilon V (the greatest party fraternity in the history of the universe, and is only exceeded by its 4th dimensional self, which is in turn exceeded by its 5th dimensional self and so on and so forth), the idea that every pub is unique was only discovered recently by scientists around five million years ago.
At first the idea was scoffed at, derided, ridiculed, scorned, mocked, and even spat upon, but, as the evidence became overwhelmingly clear, it gradually gained acceptance. Today it is scientifically proven that no two pubs are exactly alike, and as this contradicts the idea of an infinite universe, it has also been proven beyond any reasonable doubt that pubs do not, in fact, exist.
Of course, for many millennia the pub industry struggled with its nonexistence and nearly ceased to not exist anymore. Bar-goers, irate that they had been fooled into sitting on imaginary stools and eating imaginary peanuts and drinking imaginary drinks, stopped going and investors began to quickly pull out of what was being called the biggest non-bubble in history, which of course was just an exaggeration.
However, people gradually grew accustomed to eating imaginary peanuts and quickly began to return. Consequently, shares of the pub industry began to not rise again and investors began to not return. As baffling as this may seem, it makes complete sense. You just don’t realize it.
When you walk into any pub on Earth, there are a few things you must do. The first is to start breathing in through your nose since the Earth is not known for its smell. The second is to act like your breathing through your mouth so as to not offend any of the people inside the pub. The third is to order something or leave immediately.
Following these directions, I started breathing through my nose while appearing to do quite the opposite, and then ordered a drink. After I was sitting down and enjoying an ale whose name I can’t pronounce but comes from the M-118 galaxy, I started to chat with the barkeep. Or, rather, he started to chat with me.
“You’re that chap that’s been in my alleyway for the past week, ain’t ya?”
I carefully thought out my answer before saying anything, knowing that the wrong answer could have me sent to jail for not paying any property tax for the space of land I had been occupying. “Yeah, that would’ve been me out there. Noticed that you have Mamusk vomit out there too.” Mamusk vomit is used to flavor drinks, and while highly delicious, it is also highly illegal due to the fact that it is vomit.
The barkeep eyed me but shrugged it off. “So how’d you end up out there?”
“I was hoping that you could tell me.”
Again the barkeep shrugged. “Ain’t never seen you before you passed out there. But three big men were talking about you six days ago.”
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