As Caesar lay bleeding outside the Theatre of Pompey, he looked up at his friend and betrayer, Brutus.
“Brutus, I had the strangest dream yesterday.”
“Oh, on Talk Like a Pirate Day?”
“No, Brutus, that’s in September.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“It’s ok. Anyway, it was the oddest dream, with an even ratio of both rational and irrational elements.” At this point, the great dictator finally began to succumb to his wounds, and Brutus was only able to make out a few remaining words: “…stonehenge…Richard Parker…鳥居…”
Julius Caesar breathed his last, and Brutus shook his head sadly and began to walk away. “What a shame,” he muttered to himself. “I really wanted to hear the rest of that dream.”
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When officials came later to remove Caesar’s body, they discovered something strange. When they picked him up, they found that as his final act, he had carved two lines of Roman numerals in the stone steps beneath him:
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