220 and 284 walk into a bar. “Hey!” the craft mixologist yells, “we don’t serve your kind here!”
“I thought public houses are open to the public!” the outraged numbers shoot back.
“We recently re-branded as a social club. We only serve sociable numbers.”
“We assure you, we won’t cause trouble,” the still fuming numbers insist. “We’re quite amicable.”
“You don’t look very friendly to me,” sneers the cocktail artisan, refreshing his mustache wax. “Come back when you’re betrothed and we’ll talk.”
“What about me?” asks 496, sitting at the bar typing on a vintage Underwood.
“You can stay. You’re perfect!”