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Semper sic tyrannis

Calculated and compiled on May 2, 1999.

Every day at about 6:14 PM, for the last six days, I have walked from my house to the house down the street where the flying pi lives, and brought it an apple and crudberry pie. Tell me you don’t have that problem. Flying transcendental numbers never like pies.

After this week, I’m not going to McDonald’s or Dunkin’ Donuts anymore. What? What, what…? The spotted, three-eyed dog with the chew toy shaped like the state of Missouri saw the shingles on my house and had to go chew on them for some reason, so I went home to pick up a piece of paper. Nothing’s that funny. Do you really think I need it? I do not. I found the dog, I found 3.141592654 shingles peeled off the walls, so I brought each piece back to the house of the flying pi.

Consarn it. Semper sic tyrannis took on a whole new meaning to me this Thursday as I saw the stars again. And the sun. And Bill Clinton, and Monica Lewinski. And the moon, even. Well, I tell you what, this is all as gregarious and egregious as I’m going to be this week, so that is the end.

The file cabinet and car door was malfunctioning again yesterday, so I walked along the line until they stopped, and the feet started walking. Recently, someone had written, “Hot XXX Babes!” on the wall. Could you keep the gopher quiet while I think about the voices in my phone? There is an inherent difference between the numbers seven and 4,092,115, but I have yet to find it.