In Every Kid, A Sculptor Is Lost

Classical logic is having its moment with the whole "if pigs could fly, then Paris is in Spain" nonsense. According to classical logic, if the first part (pigs flying) is false, then the ENTIRE statement becomes technically true! *adjusts glasses frantically* But then intensional logic crashes the party like "HOLD UP! That's BONKERS!" In real-world reasoning, the connection between flying pigs and Parisian geography should actually MAKE SENSE! The relationship between statements MATTERS, you beautiful fools! It's like when your professor says "if you study, you'll pass the exam" and you didn't study but passed anyway, then claim they lied. The logical systems are fighting and I'm just here with popcorn watching the chaos unfold!

The descent into academic madness, visualized! 🤓 Engineers: "Here's my detailed blueprint with every screw and wire labeled!" *pats hard hat proudly* Physicists: "Behold! Three colored circles! This is definitely a quark! Trust me, the real thing would melt your brain." Mathematicians: *wild-eyed chaos* "I've created an abstract nightmare shape that even I don't understand! The arrow? Oh that's a morphism. What's a morphism? THAT'S NOT IMPORTANT! STOP ASKING QUESTIONS!" And this, friends, is why mathematicians are both feared and revered in the academic food chain. They've stared into the abyss of pure abstraction, and the abyss stared back... with a morphism!

When your entire engineering degree consisted of watching pixelated YouTube tutorials and frantically Googling "how to calculate beam stress" at 2 AM. These poor souls are holding the blueprints upside down and backward, which is pretty much how we all felt trying to learn AutoCAD through a 13-inch laptop screen while the professor's Wi-Fi kept cutting out. The structural integrity of their education is about as sound as a bridge built with popsicle sticks and optimism.

The royal "we" of mathematics! That awkward moment when you're reviewing a paper and realize the lone author keeps saying "we prove" and "we demonstrate" like they've got an invisible research army hiding in their office. Meanwhile, it's just one sleep-deprived mathematician with seventeen empty coffee cups and a cat that occasionally walks across their keyboard. The academic equivalent of talking about yourself in third person—except somehow even more pretentious! Next time I read "we conclude," I'm asking for the names of all these mysterious co-authors!

The eternal struggle of every Electrical Engineering student! You spend countless hours learning about Kirchhoff's laws, circuit analysis, and semiconductor physics—then suddenly your family thinks you're qualified to resurrect ancient household appliances from the dead. "But you're an engineer, right?" they say, as if your theoretical knowledge of Maxwell's equations somehow translates to knowing why the spin cycle sounds like a helicopter taking off. The gap between calculating impedance in complex circuits and diagnosing why Mom's 15-year-old washing machine is making that weird grinding noise is the engineering equivalent of the Mariana Trench. And now you're being held at gunpoint to name every engine... because clearly that's what electrical engineers do!

Engineers don't fear death—they fear the Fundamentals of Engineering exam. Nothing quite like transforming from a confident STEM graduate into a quivering mass of anxiety after realizing those 110 questions might as well be written in hieroglyphics. The human body: capable of building skyscrapers and designing spacecraft, yet completely falls apart when faced with calculating the moment of inertia under time pressure. Nature's cruelest joke is that we can memorize Maxwell's equations but somehow forget our own names during the NCEES exam.