WUnderground WashU's Premier (only) Satirical Newspaper Est. 2004
Shame on you, the know-it-all that you are! I bestow upon you a problem and, look, there it is, the answer! You reduce my most pressing adversities to subjects of analytical dissections, stripping them of their depth and complexity. You act as if you have the keys to the universe, the omniscience of a celestial commander, the wisdom and grace of a jackalope’s frolic. And yet, when I so much as inquire regarding a negative integer’s square root, you buckle below the weight of my command. “Calculator.” One needn’t look further than your name to be struck by your arrogance. It oozes from your every fiber. How uncouth, how banal, to use your title as a sweeping pronouncement of your abilities. Yes, you may calculate with such prowess, such adroitness. But haven’t you any other purpose? ‘Math alpha math,’ I declare, and a logarithm appears before me. But never do you log the rhythm of my heart. Y = mx + b, you know of well. But as to why you will be my ex if we continue down this constant slope of despair? You know nothing of it. I drown in pain and sorrow.
But each time I labor through a problem set, you remind me why I summoned you from the Amazon all those years ago. The shipping was as prime as the number seven, and the only two factors were you and me, darling! Oh, how youthful and innocent the times were. And, as the sun sets today, a fortnight prior to my Calculus III examination, we study in union, with passionate, unyielding affection. My eyes lock with your i, but nothing about this is imaginary. For just a moment, I forget about all the other TI-84s in the world. You’re the only one that matters to me. And I know that one time I used Aarons’s graphing calculator on a statistics test when I forgot you in the library. And that other time I left you unplugged on a low battery, gasping for voltage. But that will never happen again. Because, much like a function at its vertical asymptote, our love has no limit, and–wait, what? A 78? I got a 78? Fuck you, worthless piece of shit! I’ve always loved Desmos more, anyway. We’re finished!
