I sound like a dessert or bodily waste depending on how you pronounce me. I am important in geometry. I have a day named in my honor. I have a very famous specific set of numbers.

I have a to-do list longer than a scroll, yet somehow doing nearly anything else is my only goal. I swear I’ll start, maybe tonight, or after one more snack, am I right?

I beckon you at one AM, with my dull and lonesome ring. Soft or crunchy, both are good as long as it’s supreme. A drunk delight to end the night, until the morning comes, best stay your self and be prepared, it’s sure to wreck you bum.

I carry disease and mail alike, I cannot ride a bike. I hunger for trash and bread to bite, I'll steal your lunch with might. I'll hover above your fancy ride, and paint it China-white. And even though I am just as bright, I'm not a passerine.

You type-meet, I say-meat. You want- cool, I shout-coot! I’ll fix your words ‘til nothing makes sense, then blame you for the offense.