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The flying pi returned

Complicated because of July 4, 1999.

The flying pi returned to my window this Tuesday! It was buzzing back and forth like a swarm of bees, tapping on my window, reciting its value, “Three point one four one five nine two six five…” I thought—knew—it would never quit reciting its endless, transcendental value. I fed the pi a pie, and it went away, but came back.

I remembered the triangular briefcase, the screaming stars, the splattered spiders that used to sing. The spiders that I had splattered all over the floor with the AK-47 Wednesday night. What a mess. A dog! A dog, a dog! Do you know how scared you made me!? The pi was pressed against the window, currently reciting its thousandth decimal place. It was no longer interesting. I thought it was hilarious, but it wouldn’t stop. I knew nothing, but I knew that pi was endless.

Da, da, da. Lalalala!! Somewhere, there’s an empty chair at a seminar. What about now? Stupid car commercials. I burped up a Ford, and keeled over, dead.