The Physics Curriculum Progression

Imagine an alternate universe where Ben Franklin woke up and chose chaos. In our reality, we established that electrons are negative and flow opposite to conventional current. But Evil Ben? He's that guy who puts milk before cereal, sets his thermostat to 68.1°F, and deliberately creates electrical conventions that would torment engineering students for centuries. This is basically the supervillain origin story for every EE student's 2AM homework breakdown. If Evil Ben had won, our phone chargers would probably plug in correctly on the first try, but calculus would somehow involve interpretive dance.

The ultimate science communicator's nightmare! That feeling when your brain is literally bursting with astrophysics knowledge but you're stuck explaining F=ma to people who think gravity is "just a theory." The meme perfectly captures that intellectual purgatory where Neil deGrasse Tyson finds himself—an astrophysicist with a PhD explaining basic concepts while his enormous brain throbs with cosmic secrets. It's the scientific equivalent of being a chess grandmaster teaching someone how pawns move while internally calculating 17 moves ahead. The smoking pipe is just *chef's kiss* pretentious icing on the cake of academic suffering.

Classical physicists: "We need exact solutions!" Meanwhile, Richard Feynman's just sitting there like "What if we just... draw some squiggly lines?" The beauty of Feynman diagrams is that they turned horrifyingly complex quantum field theory integrals into cute little pictures that even undergrads can understand (sort of). While traditional mathematicians were having existential crises over unsolvable equations, Feynman was like "hold my bongo drums" and revolutionized physics with doodles. The Nobel committee basically gave him a prize for being the ultimate physics hack artist. And that angry guy in the third panel? That's every mathematician who spent years deriving exact solutions only to be upstaged by some feather diagrams and perturbation theory.

Calling AI "Schrödinger's Code" is painfully accurate. Your program simultaneously works and doesn't work until you run it. And even after observation, it might collapse into a different state when you show it to your supervisor. Much like quantum superposition, AI exists in multiple states of functionality—brilliantly solving problems one minute, then hallucinating that Nebraska is a coastal state the next. The uncertainty principle of programming: you can know what your code is supposed to do, or what it actually does, but never both at the same time.

The internet's favorite debate format: someone with actual expertise versus someone who'd rather die on their opinion hill than admit they're wrong. Our nuclear professor drops facts—working near a reactor daily and being a tenured researcher—while the other person responds with the intellectual equivalent of sticking fingers in ears and yelling "PAID SHILL!" This is basically the scientific method versus confirmation bias having a cage match. The irony? The anti-nuclear person probably charges their phone that runs on electricity from—you guessed it—a grid partially powered by nuclear energy. Chef's kiss of cognitive dissonance right there.

Remember when engineers were bold visionaries ready to conquer the laws of physics? Now they're just whimpering at the sight of a thermodynamics textbook. The left shows the muscular "Engineers then" Doge, full of ambition and delusions of grandeur, while the right displays the pathetic reality of modern engineering students. As someone who's taught thermodynamics for 20 years, I can confirm this transformation happens approximately 3 weeks into the semester when they realize entropy isn't just a fancy word but an actual mathematical concept. The dreams of building iron-man suits quickly dissolve into desperate Google searches for "how to pass thermo without understanding it."