Faulty Mathematics

Just up the street, the baker flung open his windows so the scent of freshly baked confections could waft up and down the street to tempt bystanders into unburdening their wallets. Sighing contentedly, the baker cried: “Who wants some pi—”

Watching a thin trickle of blood bisect the baker’s plump visage from a coin sized hole on the forehead, the Watchman realized his error. “Oops. You can tell I don’t like mathematicians very much,” he apologized to the enraged crowd.

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