The Prime Gap Expedition

The perfect encapsulation of why math textbooks are simultaneously brilliant and infuriating. The interview candidate with zero teaching experience gets hired immediately because they've mastered the dark art of saying "the answer is left as an exercise for the interviewer." That's literally the foundation of every math textbook ever published. Just when you need the solution most, the author abandons you with that dreaded phrase. It's like a chef giving you all the ingredients but refusing to tell you the cooking temperature.

The ultimate relationship security system! This partner isn't just sharing their ATM card - they've encrypted the PIN as a calculus integral that only a math-savvy sweetheart could solve. Talk about trust with verification! The math expression looks intimidating, but for someone who speaks the language of derivatives and integrals, it's basically a love letter saying "I trust your mathematical abilities more than I fear an empty bank account." Relationship goals indeed - finding someone who combines unlimited shopping privileges with pop quizzes!

That moment when geometry puns transcend spacetime. The fourth dimension isn't time as Einstein suggested—it's just a terrible pun! "Diagonal" (die-agonal) literally means crossing from corner to corner, but this kid weaponized it as "the fourth measurement" after length, width, and height. Even theoretical physicists would groan at this one. Somewhere in the multiverse, Einstein is facepalming so hard he's creating gravitational waves.

The calculus murder mystery we didn't know we needed. 7 tells X that "1/X will change you," which turns out to be prophetic when X reads the derivative formula d/dx(1/x) = -1/x². X dies, e investigates, and ultimately discovers the murder weapon: basic differentiation rules. The real killer was always mathematics. Nine years of calculus research and not once did they warn us about the psychological trauma of finding the derivative of reciprocal functions.

The existential crisis of every Calculus 1 student witnessing someone solve derivatives in seconds using the power rule. Meanwhile, they're still drawing tangent lines and computing limits like it's the 1600s. The power rule (where the derivative of x^n equals n·x^(n-1)) feels like actual sorcery when you first see it. That moment when math suddenly gets easier and you're convinced your professor has been deliberately torturing you with the long method.

The progression from linear to quintic formulas perfectly captures the math student's journey from confidence to existential crisis. Starting with the simple linear formula where SpongeBob is cheerful, we quickly spiral into the quadratic formula's mild concern. By the cubic formula, our yellow friend has transformed into a muscular warrior ready to battle those complex roots. The quartic formula unleashes such computational horror that SpongeBob literally explodes with mathematical overload. And the quintic? Well, there's nothing left but empty ocean floor because—fun mathematical fact—there's no general algebraic solution for polynomials of degree five or higher (thanks, Galois Theory). The empty scene isn't a glitch—it's mathematically accurate despair!