Pi Day is celebrated on March 14th (3/14) around the world. Pi (Greek letter “π”) is the symbol used in mathematics to represent a constant — the ratio of the circumference of a circle to its diameter — which is approximately 3.14159. Pi Day is an annual opportunity for math enthusiasts to recite the infinite digits of Pi, talk to their friends about math, and eat pie.
Pi has been calculated to over 50 trillion digits beyond its decimal point. As an irrational and transcendental number, it will continue infinitely without repetition or pattern. While only a handful of digits are needed for typical calculations, pi’s infinite nature makes it a fun challenge to memorize, and to computationally calculate more and more digits.
I was going to make this a sarcastic post so I wanted to remember them as I heard it decades ago. It turned out a lot differently than I thought when I asked the AI bots.
Here’s where I started:
Trust me
The check is in the mail
I love you
So after I did a search, I found these listed by others. If I missed any, leave it in the comments and I’ll include it and give you credit.
I’m from the government and I’m here to help you
I won’t cum in your mouth
I’ll respect you in the morning
Read my lips, no new taxes
I did not have sexual relations with that woman
If you like your doctor, you can keep your doctor
If you like your plan, you can keep your plan
Black is beautiful
Climate change is true
The moon landing is fake
The Covid Vaccine works
The 2020 Election was not rigged or stolen – Mosckerr
This will only hurt a little while
This will hurt me more than it hurts you
It’s not you, it’s me (it’s you)
I can quit anytime I want to
You are the best I’ve ever had
I love the gift
That dress doesn’t make you look fat
I’ll return it/repay it right away
“Honey, that has never happened to me before.”
“I’m breaking up with you, but I still want us to be friends.”
“Men are simple creatures.”
“It’s only a cold sore.”
“I’m from the IRS and I’m here to help you.”
“I’ll only stick the head of it in.”
I would never lie to you.
Of course size doesn’t matter.
I’m just happy to be here and help out the team any way I can.
I love my job
I only had two drinks at the bar.
I had no idea that I was speeding.
No mom, we haven’t had sex. We’re waiting until we get married.
I’ve only had a couple before you
“It isn’t about the money, it’s the principle of the thing.”
“It was like that when I bought it.”
“That’s a great idea, boss.”
“I only use my internet connection at work for business purposes.”
“Don’t worry, my parents really like you.”
It doesn’t matter to me, you’re sexy no matter how much you weigh. Now go to sleep, I have to work tomorrow.
I have a headache
Of course I came
You make me cum every time
I’ll call you…definitely!
The cable man will be there between 9 to noon.
The taxi will be there in less than 30 minutes.
The bus comes every half hour.
“No dear, she’s not prettier than you…”
Of course I’m 21, I just left my ID in the car.
Of course I’ve done this before, I’ll be done in five minutes.
My phone must have died
It was in my spam folder
It’s great to see you
I can have only one more
“I don’t care about looks as much as personality.”
It looks like there’s quite a lot of desperate, horny broads working as prison guards in Kentucky’s male prison system. A staggering 30 of them got caught up in inappropriate relationships with inmates within just 16 months. But it doesn’t stop there—these relationships led to some seriously questionable decisions, like smuggling drugs into the prison for their inmate “boyfriends.” It’s a complicated mix of desperation, weakness, and misguided loyalty at play here.
Medics were shocked to find that a fisherman had been struck with a harpoon — and not by accident.
Sujit Klingtalay was out with friends fishing and drinking beers in the Nakhon Ratchasima province of Thailand when the recent incident occurred.
The 45-year-old told Viral Press that he and another friend got into an argument about which man had caught a bigger fish.
“I was fishing with my friend, and we joked about the fish we had caught. I said [that] I had caught bigger fish than him, but he was offended,” he said.
Out of anger, Klingtalay’s friend decided to aim a fishing harpoon at the back of Klingtalay’s head — which lodged inside in the skin.
After graduating from high school, a group of us decided to play in an organized softball league. Our choice at that time was down to church league softball. While we played and did OK, which I’ll talk about later, the extracurricular activities were more interesting. It’s later on in the post.
Our team was part of of the same group who lost almost every game in church league basketball, mostly because we were a bunch of white guys thinking we could play. There were some people who resembled athletes on this team. My roommate George and I both played tennis for our colleges, but that didn’t qualify us as good softball players. We had a couple of players who were little league stars, but as a group we weren’t that good.
Before I get started, this is a good lead in to the story.
We didn’t have a fistfight, at least on our team, but it did happen, between two other teams, both of which we played. A lot of other growing up stuff did happen though.
We were in that stage of just being out of high school, but growing up late and were starting to experiment with life. We also weren’t the star players on the baseball team either.
I guess we started out serious. We had just enough people for a team, All Saints Episcopal (we would be anything but Saints). I don’t remember if we had a team name, but it wouldn’t have been the Yankees. Misfit’s would have been more accurate. If anyone bailed, we’d have to forfeit. It was close some days whether enough guys would show up, but we managed to play the season. Of the nine guys, I think we had 4 that who actually played organized baseball. They put up with the lack of skills by the rest of us.
We picked positions and somehow I got 3rd base, far too close to home and a position I’d never played before. I’m pretty sure I was the kid in right field in my one year foray in little league at 7 years old. After a few practices, we thought we were ready to play and tear up the league. I think we believed the same thing in the basketball failure a few years earlier when we won 1 game all season.
In the first game, damn near the first batter of the year, a hard grounder was hit right to me. I was as shocked as anyone when I fielded it. I turned and fired a throw to the first baseman about 5 feet above his head. Since this was over 40 years ago now, I can’t remember whether we won or not. I’m pretty sure we lost as we did a lot of that.
In a subsequent game, another batter hit a line shot and I stuck my glove up and actually caught it. I was as surprised as anyone on the field, but had the sense of awareness to look like I meant to do it.
What saved us in a lot of games was enough singles by us to get batters on, but count on our big sticks, Pat and Mark Greene, Chris Patterson and an occasional lucky hit by others to score enough runs to overcome the errors in the field. Occasionally, we’d actually pull off a great play like a throw from deep left to home to get the runner out. Since the catcher never played before, it was a crap shoot whether he’d catch it or not and that we got the out surprised everyone on the field. He was a Dad who was a good sport to put up with us. He had no idea what we did off the field and was as (in)capable as the rest of us on the field (barely).
We’d go on to be about a .500 team. Being a church league, we were fortunate to face groups of people without any little league players who were actually worse than us, or a forfeit.
In the last game of the season against St Margaret Mary, my parents finally came to see me play. They had Ryan Sanderson on the other side, who was a starter at the University of Florida. Ryan also starred at our high school and it would be like playing pick up basketball with Michael Jordan on the other team. Ever at bat went over the fence.
I hit my only homer of the season in that game, in front of my Dad. It was a perfect ending to my only year of somewhat organized softball. Our team went on to hit 16 homers in that game and lost. The other team hit over 20. I’m sure Ryan had at least 5, or how ever many times he got up to bat. Hitting one out in front of my parents overshadowed the loss. Plus, the following made us forget everything.
EXTRACURRICULAR ACTIVITIES
On the field, we’d try stupid stuff like our first foray’s into chewing tobacco thinking we would be like the big leagues. I remember putting a wad of Red Man into my mouth and heading out to third. By mid inning, I was spitting everything I could and dying for the inning to end so that I could get that shit out of my mouth without embarrassing myself in front of my friends. We routinely had macho contests to prove our masculinity and I couldn’t fail at this in public.
Here’s Robert Earl Keen on dipping snuff, funny song
Fortunately, it was a quick inning and I escaped embarrassment as well as losing my dinner.
After it became clear that we weren’t going to the world series, our other adventures in life crept in. We decided that it would be a good idea to get high before the games and see if we could play. Mark Imhoof who was a regular user provided the goods and the bong. He was the kid who got high in High School, had long hair and a van. He was a good player and the friend of someone else on the team, but he never went to our church. Come to think of it, most of the rest of us had stopped going to church by then also. Since I was high, I’m sure we didn’t play our best, but by then we didn’t really care as much. We came out of that van like Cheech and Chong, trailing smoke.
My roommate George and I lived in his parents house. It was my first home away from home. His parents were missionaries in Guatemala at the time. When the cat’s away, we were the mice. It was the place our friends from the team came to to do stuff they couldn’t do when they were in town and at their parents, meaning drinking and getting high. Many of us lost our virginity there, to the same girl on different nights in different rooms in the house.
AFTER THE GAME
Being a church league team, we celebrated after the game spiritually by going to wherever the pitchers of beer were the cheapest. I recall one dive called the Copper Top. We also went to the Steak Out where you got free Sangria with an order of a steak tough enough to wear as a desert boot. I’m sure they lost money on us given what we drank and we’d go out afterwards for more. We finally got kicked out and got banned from coming back.
There was always beat the clock at Big Daddy’s. If you know the game, the price goes up after a certain time, so you drink as fast as you can at first to keep the price down. We were in college working for minimum wage at the time ($2.00). The beginning price was a nickel a beer and it doubled every half hour. I was hammered by the first tick of the clock as were the rest of the team.
On the off chance that we played on Wednesday, it was also nickle beer night at Rosie O’Grady’s in downtown Orlando.
Nevertheless, a healthy activity sponsored by a religious organization turned into a night of us getting fucked up. I don’t think I had early classes, but I missed them if I did.
That of course led to…
LATE NIGHT GREASE TO SOAK UP THE ALCOHOL
We hit a number of places. Back then, the Grand Slam was $1.99, affordable and enough food to soak up some of the beer before bed.
The other place was Krystal’s. I think the burgers were a nickle there also. It became a dick measuring contest to see how many you could eat. I topped out at 11, but Marc Greene regularly at 25 and went over 30 on some nights. I was in awe of him being an eating machine.
In the end, we only lasted that one season. We were kind of done when we started getting high before the games.
I lost track of most of the players. George and I wound up being best men at each other’s weddings and today are still friends. He transferred out of state to another college and I moved on campus at mine. We never went back to that church again, except for my parents funerals.
Growing up comes in many flavors. This was just the start of my fucking up in life. I had many adventures to come that made this tame.
Kelce’s performance, in fact, produced such awkwardness that one local network cut away to a shot of the crowd.
Sometimes one must wonder if certain famous people, on some deep psychological level, recognize their own hopeless insignificance. Otherwise, why would they engage in cringe-worthy public behavior that shows respect neither for themselves nor for others? Why would they knock the pedestal out from beneath their own feet?
Such questions occurred while watching clips from Wednesday’s Super Bowl LVIII victory parade in Kansas City, Missouri, where Chiefs tight end Travis Kelce — in an apparently incoherent state of drunkenness — made a mockery of himself, his Super Bowl opponents and the very idea of celebration.
When I had foot surgery, we had to leave the seat up for 6 weeks in my house. It turned out that it wasn’t the problem that was purported for decades. I observed it silently.
The NYT thinks that Travis Kelce invented the fade 🤦🏾♀️ When you have zero cultural competency on your staff, this is how you end up with stories like this, and explaining swag surfin,’ which is at least 15 or years old. pic.twitter.com/EgqZ1vJmBN
This is 1000 words in each picture. I think the most relatable is how good cancelled plans are. What a relief. The one about how it is the best present you can give an introvert is spot on.
Lane Kiffin and the University of Mississippi are reportedly hiring former Texas Longhorns personnel guy Billy Glasscock to be the team’s general manager, per ESPN’s Chris Low, and I honestly haven’t laughed this hard since Noah Knigga burst onto the college football scene.
Glasscock spent three years as a player personnel operator for Texas and previously served in similar roles at NC State and the University of Minnesota, per Low.
No wonder girls have a hard time getting off when we get down. Guys haven’t got a chance with all off this technology competing against our junk. Hell, even black guys don’t stand a chance.
An American Airlines plane was reportedly forced to return to the gate due to high wind — a “disgruntled” passenger’s smelly farts.
The big stink over the flatulent flyer unfolded while a recent flight from Phoenix, Arizona, to Austin, Texas, was still on the ground, according to a viral Reddit post.
“Before most people had boarded, I observed that this man was audibly disgruntled about something, maybe hungover, rough day idk, but as soon as he sat down he was grumbling about something under his breath, like ‘f—ing hell’ or something,” user lamgalatx wrote.
After the majority of passengers had boarded, the man reportedly exclaimed: “You thought that was rude? Well how about this smell” — and proceeded to pass gas.
“(I don’t know) what provoked that comment, and while kinda funny to overhear, it was uncalled for especially coming from a grown man on an airplane nonetheless,” the user wrote.
But the excessively farting passenger’s gross behavior didn’t end there.
There is a sweet amount of satisfaction in doing this. You buy a cockroach or rat, it gets named for your ex and is feed to an animal at the zoo. You get confirmation and everyone is happy. Also, fuck your ex.
For the second year in a row, the wild and crazy staff at the San Antonio Zoo offers the brokenhearted a novel way to oh-so-satisfyingly get back at their exes on Valentine’s Day. Yes, their incredibly popular Cry Me a Cockroach Fundraiser is back!
For a small non-refundable donation of $5.00, $10.00, or $25.00, the zoo staff will “symbolically name a [cock]roach, rat, or veggie after your ex or not-so-special someone.” The San Antonio Zoo staff will then happily feed your selection of a bug, a rodent, or a vegetable to a deserving and hungry zoo animal.
Don’t worry, animal lovers and PETA, no additional rats are killed specifically for the brokenhearted’s vengeful pleasure. All the rats used in the fundraiser are pre-frozen, just like the usual rodents that are fed to the animals as part of their regular daily scheduled feedings. “They are delivered frozen from a mouse farm and stored at [the] Nutrition Center until thawed for feedings,” the zoo’s website states.
Additionally, participants of Cry Me a Cockroach receive “a digital Valentine’s Day Card” showing their support for the fundraiser, including the cockroach, rat, or veggie dedication to your ex. And just for, um, fun, this card could be sent to your ex or posted to your personal social media to let the world know you’ve been, um, thinking of your ex. Sharing is caring, amirite?
I played this game with the El Paso Zoo a couple of years ago. I named one for my college gf who turned into a traveling whore when she was a stewardess. The other was just deserving of one. She cheated on her husband although not with me. I had nothing to do with it other than watching her (from the sidelines) ruin someone else’s (and her own) life.
The people at the zoo were amazed at how much vitriol people had for the ones that did them wrong.
I’m a Star Trek fan, but he’s in my bottom 10 characters. I choked to stop from puking when he guest hosted Jeopardy as he tried to wrestle the job from the other contenders. Mostly, I hate the woke shit that comes with celebtards like him. At least while Sulu is alive, he isn’t the worst Star Trek Character in real life.
This super sized bowl of Irony makes it even funnier and more satisfying that he has to live with his past now. I wonder if his ancestors owned slaves.
“Reading Rainbow” star LeVar Burton is one of the most outspoken leftists in Hollywood, which is saying a whole lot. He has championed every radical cause possible in recent years, including reparations. Moreover, he does so with the spite and unhinged rhetoric of a BLM grifter.
The man who once played a slave in “Roots” recently found out that his great, great grandfather is not only white, but was also a Confederate soldier. That certainly adds a twist of lime to his race-baiting drink of choice.
Don’t wait for beef to become more scarce. Stock up on freeze-dried cubes made from
What about me when I wake up and try to pee and my dick won’t cooperate. There’s your hardest wood, either that or a teenage boy looking at naked girls. You could cut diamonds with that wood.
Small talk is one of the more tiring things for introverts,. I avoid that situation at every chance. I love a deep conversation, but once someone starts in on how their day went in minute detail, I can’t help but turn into my own world and wish the conversation to be over as quickly as possible.
The other is ice breakers. Tell us something about yourself. Um, I don’t like to talk about myself, how’s that?
I’d hold it before I’d go just to not talk to not be here. This is at a Dr.’s office though. I see the door where you pass the piss sample in the cup
If I say call me, it’s because I’m betting you won’t. I’m tossing over the fence for you to make the move. I wouldn’t call either way. A cryptic text at best that doesn’t leave much of a window to respond.
I swear, as soon as I cross the state line, the driving gets worse immediately. The minute I see a Florida plate in my state, it’s a bad driver about to do something stupid.
They are so afraid of someone else getting 1 inch ahead of them that they do everything they can to screw you from getting in the lane.
And especially the USA. They find minute things to hate while ignoring all the good that we have done (sounds like Europeans here by accident)
But then there is 2 sets of rules
In the end, this is who they hate the most. It’s probably because it is the greatest threat to their power. Of all my trump hating acquaintances, they don’t know why they hate him, other than what they were told by the media.
Over a hundred contestants, and dozens more eager onlookers, crowded the Main Hall Stage area of the Farm Show for the inaugural Pennsylvania’s Preferred Mullet Contest.
The event was held in the morning of Jan. 8, with over 60 contestants in the Under 18 category, and more than two dozen in both the Over 18 and Throw Back category – the latter being photos submitted electronically, and eligible from any time in the past.
Madison Shaw, main hall assistant manager with the Farm Show, hadn’t expected quite such a big turnout, but overall the contest “went much better than I expected,” she said.
The contestants seemed happy to participate and celebrate the hairstyle they’ve all committed to so eagerly. One after another they strode onto the stage, flipping their hair, flexing their muscles, and throwing up the rock-and-roll horns
There were mullets with long, straight hair and mullets with lots of curls; some had designs shaved into their sides, or styled the “business” side of things in the front or on top. Thin mustaches were popular among those old enough to grow them, as were the Pit Viper style sunglasses.
It’s a problem in the western world that is rarely discussed in the media beyond puff-piece articles and glancing polls that avoid connecting the dots. The precipitous decline of dating, committed relationships and marriage along with a flatline in population in the past couple decades in the US is treated as a novelty issue rather than the threat to the stability of civilization that it actually is. History shows that without the traditional family structure, numerous ugly societal consequences follow.
One could argue, though, that the situation is far worse than that. We may be heading into a future where families become a novelty, and many argue that the root cause is feminism and the hyperinflated delusions of progressive women.
In order to understand the problem we have to look at the stats.
More than 50% of American women are still childless by age 30. By age 35 fertility goes into steep decline with women having a 15% chance of becoming pregnant, and a less than 5% chance of motherhood at age 40. Meaning, the best window of opportunity for women to find a compatible partner and build a family is in their 20s.
Feminists argue, though, that this is the time in a woman’s life when they should be building a career and having fun. Family life, they say, is an artificial prison “created by the patriarchy” in order to oppress the fairer sex. Corporate media and Hollywood entertainment often reinforce this narrative and encourage unrealistic life goals.
The word on the street is “Hoeflation”: The dramatic increase in cost for men today to maintain a relationship with a woman while the quality of women continues to go down. That is to say, it is an increase in female expectations vs what they bring to the table in a relationship.
In other words, women of the past used to have something to offer beyond sexual companionship, from greater femininity, greater potential for motherhood, less combativeness and narcissism, as well as a superior ability to raise children and maintain a home. Such traits are highly attractive to men even after 60 years of widespread feminism, but are seen as non-existent among women under 30 in 2023.
It should be noted that “Hoeflation” seems to be directly linked to progressive influences, and not all women fall into this category. Unfortunately, around 71% of young women identify with progressive beliefs, as opposed to young men who are only 53% progressive. It should also be noted that progressive today means something a lot different from what it meant in the 1990s (progressive now means woke, or extreme leftist cultism).
In case you don’t know, these are the ones who want a 6 foot (or taller) man making six figures with a greater than 6″ dick.
Here’s the other side of the story
From the internet:
They want you to be in shape, have a great personality, make them laugh, message first, be tall, have a beard, have tattoos, play guitar, be sensitive, be a man “no bois plz”, they don’t want one night stands or players, but also nothing serious, let’s see what happens, don’t want kids, vegan, yoga, traveling EVERYBODY WANTS TO TRAVEL YOU ****, TRAVELING DOESN’T MAKE YOU SPECIAL OR INTERESTING, DO YOU EVEN HAVE A PERSONALITY? OR DO YOU JUST REPEAT THE SAME F*****G S**T AS EVERYONE ELSE BECAUSE YOU DON’T WANT TO BE EXPOSED AS A COMPLETE F*****G VOID OF A PERSON!!!??
Every woman online thinks she deserves a prince, but very few of them care about being the sort of princess a prince would be proud to carry back to his palace.
And the clincher, I remembered this, but it still applies.
Title: What should I do to marry a rich guy?
A girl on a dating site posted this one below.
I’m going to be honest of what I’m going to say here.
I’m 25 this year. I’m very pretty, have style and good taste. I wish to marry a guy with $500k annual salary or above.
You might say that I’m greedy, but an annual salary of $1M is considered only as middle class in New York.
My requirement is not high. Is there anyone in this forum who has an income of $500k annual salary? Are you all married?
I wanted to ask: what should I do to marry rich persons like you?
Among those I’ve dated, the richest is $250k annual income, and it seems that this is my upper limit.
If someone is going to move into high cost residential area on the west of New York City Garden(?), $250k annual income is not enough.
I’m here humbly to ask a few questions:
1) Where do most rich bachelors hang out? (Please list down the names and addresses of bars, restaurant, gym) 2) Which age group should I target? 3) Why most wives of the riches are only average-looking? I’ve met a few girls who don’t have looks and are not interesting, but they are able to marry rich guys. 4) How do you decide who can be your wife, and who can only be your girlfriend? (my target now is to get married) Ms. Pretty
Dimon’s reply.
Dear Ms. Pretty, I have read your post with great interest. Guess there are lots of girls out there who have similar questions like yours. Please allow me to analyze your situation as a professional investor.
My annual income is more than $500k, which meets your requirement, so I hope everyone believes that I’m not wasting time here.
From the standpoint of a business person, it is a bad decision to marry you. The answer is very simple, so let me explain.
Put the details aside, what you’re trying to do is an exchange of “beauty” and “money” : Person A provides beauty, and Person B pays for it, fair and square.
However, there’s a deadly problem here, your beauty will fade, but my money will not be gone without any good reason. The fact is, my income might increase from year to year, but you can’t be prettier year after year.
Hence from the viewpoint of economics, I am an appreciation asset, and you are a depreciation asset. It’s not just normal depreciation, but exponential depreciation. If that is your only asset, your value will be much worse 10 years later.
By the terms we use in Wall Street, every trading has a position, dating with you is also a “trading position”.
If the trade value dropped we will sell it and it is not a good idea to keep it for long term – same goes with the marriage that you wanted. It might be cruel to say this, but in order to make a wiser decision any assets with great depreciation value will be sold or “leased”.
Anyone with over $500k annual income is not a fool; we would only date you, but will not marry you. I would advice that you forget looking for any clues to marry a rich guy. And by the way, you could make yourself to become a rich person with $500k annual income.This has better chance than finding a rich fool.
May we celebrate together, but alone and separately. Talk to you tomorrow because I’m not talking today.
It’s my favorite holiday after just suffering through Christmas and New Years. I can be alone today. Somewhere out there (although probably quiet) my fellow souls finally have some joy. It’s doubtful others will hear about it as we don’t boast, and other times you can’t get a word in edge wise for all the yapping.
I know and so do others.
PS, I’m not an INFJ.
This next one is me. I’m always in the back, next to the door so I can leave if I need to escape or panic
Another day, another headline blurring the line between news story and Babylon Bee satire.
A lonely woman in Canada has decided that she is in love with a tree. And not in a hippy tree-hugger way — no, she has declared herself an “ecosexual,” who is “erotically” attracted to this poor, unsuspecting tree.
Really.
Sonja Semyonova, 45, (not to be confused with the devout and unwilling prostitute from Fyodor Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment) is a self-professed “self-intimacy guide and somatic sex educator in training,” according to the New York Post.
Her enduring passion for this deciduous specimen apparently began during the COVID lockdowns in 2020 and 2021.
According to Breitbart News, after moving to Vancouver Island, British Columbia, in 2020, Semyonova’s atraction to this tree began when she noticed it during her daily walks. After walking, “near the tree five days a week for the whole winter. I noticed a connection with the tree,” she said.
During that lonely time, she had been “craving that rush of erotic energy that comes when you meet a new partner, and that is not sustainable.”
It brings tree-hugger to a new level. When I hear sustainable, I know the bullshit is about to flow. Also, never underestimate crazy in a girl. As Wirecutter says: Pyscho Chicks, we’ve all known one.
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Delusions of Adequacy 