Years and years ago, back when the American frontier was still in the final throes of being tamed, there was a young fellow who showed a remarkable aptitude for academics.
"Son," the boy's father said, "we ain't nothing but a bunch of poor, simple, country folk... but *you* got them *brains*." The father pointed a calloused finger at his boy. "You ain't gonna work digging latrines like your old man; you is going to *college!*"
Off the young man went to a university, spending his first year dutifully studying everything that he could. Then, upon arriving home for the holidays, he was greeted by the broad (if incomplete) smile of his father.
"Son! You's back!" The pair embraced. "How's that there college treating you, boy? You learning stuff?"
"I sure am, Pa!" the young man replied. "I's learning history, biology, socio-ology, and *ger-o-mer-try!*"
"Ain't learning much in the way of English, though," the boy's mother muttered.
"Hush, now!" snapped the father. He turned back to his son. "Hey, teach me some of that there *ger-o-mer-try*."
The boy nodded. "Okay, Pa. You ready?" The father nodded, and the son continued. "Pi. R. Squared."
"What?" the father replied, looking shocked.
"Pi. R. Squared."
A moment of tense silence passed, after which the father shook his head. "I see why you's be needing four years of school."
"What d'you mean, Pa?" the young man asked.
The father sighed. "Son, you just ain't got it yet. See, pie aren't squared. *Cornbread* are squared."
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