It's As Simple As Possible Bruh

This is peak physics humor that separates the calculus connoisseurs from the casual complainers. When someone calls you a "jerk," they're probably insulting you. But when a physicist calls you a jerk, they might actually be referring to the third derivative of position with respect to time (d³x/dt³). In physics, we go from position → velocity (first derivative) → acceleration (second derivative) → jerk (third derivative). So this sophisticated gentleman isn't just calling you names—he's mathematically superior with his third-order differential equations while you're stuck being a common insult. The "we're not the same" energy is strong with this one. And if you're wondering, yes, the fourth derivative is called "snap," followed by "crackle" and "pop." Physics and breakfast cereals have more in common than you'd think!

The numerical values of π (3.14159...), e (2.71828...), and 3 are locked in an eternal mathematical hierarchy! When a test asks for "descending order," it's triggering math majors everywhere because OBVIOUSLY π > 3 > e. Anyone picking any other answer is committing mathematical heresy! Engineers especially lose their minds over this because they've had these constants drilled into their brains since freshman year. The correct answer is C, and if you picked anything else, you might hear distant screaming from the engineering building!

The classic engineering student pipeline: start with starry-eyed optimism, end with existential dread. Nothing ages you quite like discovering that "solving complex problems" actually means "debugging code at 2AM while questioning your life choices." The transformation from "I love math!" to "I hate everything, including math" happens somewhere around Differential Equations. Engineering programs should hand out cigarettes and beanies with acceptance letters—you'll need both by junior year.

The calculus gangster strikes again! This mathematical mobster is giving us the most intimidating differential equation advice ever. Take e^x, find its derivative (which is still e^x because it's just that cool), integrate it back (still e^x), and forget the constant of integration like you're disposing of evidence. The beauty? You end up exactly where you started—a perfect mathematical crime with no witnesses. Calculus professors everywhere are nodding in silent respect.

The cosmic bait-and-switch of introductory astronomy courses! You sign up thinking you'll leisurely discuss planet types and star formations, but suddenly you're deriving the vis-viva equation at 11:08 PM while questioning your life choices. That innocent "let's talk about planets" quickly transforms into calculating orbital velocities with gravitational parameters and semi-major axes. The formula shown (ε = v²/2 - GM/r) is orbital energy conservation, which leads to that terrifying velocity equation below it. Nothing says "academic betrayal" quite like expecting cool space facts and getting slapped with Keplerian mechanics instead!

The perfect recursive nightmare for every student who's ever opened an advanced textbook. You excitedly crack open "Introduction to Abstract Algebra" only to discover you need "Foundations of Mathematical Logic" which requires "Set Theory Basics" which assumes you're fluent in "Formal Proof Writing." It's turtles all the way down! Paul Halmos just casually dropping truth bombs while mathematicians everywhere nod knowingly through their tears. This quote should be tattooed on every math department door as a warning label.