Ode to the Rational Curve

The Pikers of Egg Beta III were not known for their mathematical prowess, nor for their culinary restraint, but rather for their unshakable belief that the universe should make sense—preferably in neat, symmetrical portions. Their planetary motto, loosely translated as “No leftovers, no irrationality,” guided everything from their architecture (perfectly circular buildings with square doors) to their snack packaging (hexagonal pretzel tins with triangular lids). So when their mathematicians encountered the number π, with its endless decimal tail and refusal to behave, they declared it a clerical error and set out to correct it.

Their proof, if one could call it that, began with a ceremonial slicing of a ceremonial pie. The pie, of course, was round, and the slices were measured using calibrated noodle strings and a device called the Crumbulator, which converted all measurements into fractions of snack units. After several rounds of slicing, recalibrating, and eating the evidence, the Pikers concluded that π was exactly 3, because that was the number of slices that fit comfortably into their mouths without causing existential discomfort. The decimal expansion was deemed “a rude exaggeration,” and all future calculations were rounded to the nearest polite fraction.

This revelation was ratified by the Intergalactic Standards Committee after a heated debate involving the Square Rootians of Sector 9, who argued that irrational numbers were essential for maintaining cosmic balance. The Pikers countered with a slideshow of symmetrical snack arrangements and a heartfelt poem titled “Ode to the Rational Curve.” Ultimately, the Committee agreed to reclassify π as “emotionally unstable” and recommended counseling for all transcendental numbers. The Pikers celebrated with a parade of mathematically sound floats, each shaped like a perfect circle with a clearly defined radius and a pie chart of approved emotions.

In circles vast, the Pikers drew,
With noodle strings and logic glue.
They sliced the pie, declared with nerve:
“Behold! At last—a rational curve.”

No decimal drift, no endless tail,
Just fractions neat and snack to scale.
They banned the jazz, they banned the squirm,
And taught their youth the perfect term.

So let the cosmos bend and spin,
With chaos filed and boxed within.
For Piker’s minds, both sharp and sound,
Have ruled that π is strictly round.

To this day, Egg Beta III teaches its children that the universe is a well-behaved spreadsheet, and that all curves can be reasoned with if approached politely. Their textbooks feature diagrams of circles labeled “Trustworthy Geometry” and footnotes warning against the dangers of decimal drift. Visitors from other planets are advised to avoid discussing calculus, irrationality, or jazz, as these are considered gateway concepts to chaos. And somewhere, in a quiet corner of the galaxy, π continues to spin—unruly, infinite, and utterly unimpressed by the Pikers’ snack-based logic.

Editors Note: This post is part of the ongoing Piker Series, where mathematical certainty meets poetic revisionism and snack-based epistemology. All declarations—especially those involving pi—are satirical, recursive, and subject to future rounding. For inquiries, please consult your nearest Egg Beta representative or pastry logic specialist

Harry Handelbar

Harry is a recovering satirist, part-time philosopher, and metadata tinkerer. His archive spans two decades of metaphysical mischief, theological punchlines, and poetic nonsense. He believes in satire’s transformative power, the elegance of expressive metadata, and recursion—once writing a poem that never ended and a script that crashed browsers.