Call Me Sir!

That smug Pepe face when you've found the professor's cryptonite! Rhombohedral lattices are notoriously complex crystal structures with non-orthogonal axes and unequal spacing. Converting these to Cartesian coordinates requires a transformation matrix that would make even seasoned physicists sweat. It's like asking someone to manually compute SHA-256 encryption—technically possible but practically sadistic. The professor thought they were untouchable until you hit them with the crystallographic equivalent of "show your work." Now who's sweating through their tweed jacket?

Congratulations! You've unlocked the secret physics achievement: trading your sanity for equations! That moment when you realize calculating the trajectory of your falling GPA is the only physics problem you've truly mastered. The Wario image perfectly captures that existential "I've won... but at what cost?" feeling when you discover that understanding quantum mechanics doesn't actually make you immune to 3AM breakdown sessions before exams. Your brain might now comprehend the fundamental forces of the universe, but your emotional state has reached absolute zero!

The dramatic irony of chemistry class! Teacher in a full hazmat suit announcing they're just boiling water today. Nothing says "basic lab safety" quite like dressing for a nuclear meltdown to heat H₂O to 100°C. Meanwhile, students are probably thinking, "If this is the protective gear needed for water, what horrors await us when we get to acids?" The excessive precaution for such a mundane task perfectly captures that moment when your professor makes simple things seem unnecessarily dangerous. Trust me, if your teacher shows up looking like they're handling weapons-grade plutonium, it's either your first day or they're hiding something in that beaker besides dihydrogen monoxide!

Your brain at 3 AM: "Hey, remember that time you did trigonometry in degrees but your calculator was set to radians? That's why your homework was a catastrophic failure." Nothing jolts you from peaceful slumber quite like the sudden realization that π/180 was the difference between an A and questioning your entire academic future. The brain: storing useless celebrity facts all day, but saving math trauma for prime sleep hours.

Poor John Venn, forever in Euler's shadow! Mathematicians know the pain—Leonhard Euler was the ultimate mathematical colonizer, slapping his name on everything from constants to functions to diagrams. The comic perfectly captures that one mathematician friend who insists on "well, actually"-ing every conversation with unnecessary precision. "Those aren't Venn diagrams, they're technically Euler diagrams!" Meanwhile, John Venn sits in the mathematical afterlife thinking, "I created one thing, and I can't even have that?" The mathematical equivalent of discovering a continent and having someone else's name on all the maps.

The academic survival strategy we don't discuss in orientation. That wide-eyed panic is the universal expression of every STEM major who somehow passed their quantum mechanics final by frantically searching "Schrödinger equation explained like I'm five" at 2 AM. The beautiful part? Professors are doing the exact same thing one room over. Science isn't about knowing everything—it's about knowing exactly which keywords to put in the search bar.