Finn throws his eighteenth broken sword off his bed with a cliched sigh of frustration. Why, dear God, do his buttocks and ding-dong have to literally be diamond hard? Can't a teenager masturbate in peace and satisfaction for once? And if his privates can break inferior metal weapons, then how could he ever hope to ♥♥♥♥ Princess Bubblegum's soft, gooey flesh?

Woe is Finn, for all he ever feels is woe and unrequited sexual desire. He knows this now more than ever, is more aware of his unsexiness than ever before, ever ever ever. A single tear rolls down his cheek, in synchronization with a drop of blood from his broken heart, and a drop of semen from his ding-dong.

His ding-dong.

His ding-dong, which with the help of his buttocks, broke all his beloved swords. His ding-dong, which always makes an embarrassingly huge bulge in his pants. His ding-dong, the very sight of which killed his best friend. His ding-dong, which is unfit for the soft, yummy-cummy-gummy flesh he desires.

It never brought Finn anything but sadness and pee. So harmful to him, so unlike his true passion: math.

Addition gave him pleasure; subtraction took away pain. Multiplication magnified his thoughts, while division organized them. Yes, yes; math was truly the greatest aspect of life, greater than ding-dongs, greater than vag-vags, greater than adventure itself! As long as math exists, everything will be okay-

Finn's mathematical epiphany is suddenly interrupted by his ding-dong. Of course.
"Oh my god, please!" he shouts, making eye contact with his rude genital. But then, his body interrupts him again.

It is his heart this time. The boy feels the organ mend, and then swell with feelings formerly forgotten: love and happiness. These feelings are directed at, of all things, his penis.

It has become worthy enough to be called a penis, not just a dumb ding-dong. For his penis is mathematical, he realizes. For when he spreads his legs, two right angles form.

His penis is perpedicular, and that is geometry.

That is math.