Stop Doing DNS

Stop Doing DNS
Someone finally said it. DNS is apparently a scam perpetuated by Big Nameserver to sell more resolvers. Servers were perfectly happy being identified by raw IP addresses until sysadmins got greedy and demanded "respect" in the form of complex distributed systems that nobody understands. The argument here is that we had hosts.txt—a single file that every computer could use to map names to IPs. Simple. Elegant. Completely unscalable. But who needs the internet to grow anyway? Instead, sysadmins convinced everyone we needed this elaborate DNS infrastructure with recursive queries, authoritative nameservers, TTLs, and zone files. Now when someone asks for example.com, you get a 17-step journey through multiple servers just to return an IP address. They've been laughing at us this whole time while we troubleshoot NXDOMAIN errors at 3 AM. The three diagrams with increasing question marks perfectly sum up every developer's understanding of DNS: "I think I get it... wait, what?... I have no idea what's happening anymore."

The Solution

The Solution
When RAM prices are through the roof and your code is leaking memory faster than you can say "memory management," just slap an SD card into your DDR5 slot. Problem solved! Who needs actual RAM when you can have storage pretending to be memory at a fraction of the speed? Sure, your computer will run like it's stuck in molasses, but hey, at least it'll fit "all sizes" from 4GB to 256GB. Nothing screams "quality engineering" quite like a DDR5 stick with an SD card slot on it from AliExpress. Your swap file is gonna have a field day with this one.

Do You Have Time For A Quick Call

Do You Have Time For A Quick Call
You know you've leveled up in your career when you realize your calendar has become your worst enemy. Senior dev walks in all confident like "I'm a grown man, I'm a senior developer, I can handle a quick call" - then opens their laptop to discover they've been double-booked into meeting hell. That calendar is absolutely bleeding red with back-to-back meetings. Sprint planning, retrospectives, stand-ups, architecture reviews, stakeholder syncs, "quick" calls that are never quick, and probably three meetings that could've been a Slack message. The best part? The tiny note at the bottom: "*MEETINGS SCHEDULED ALL THE TIME" - like some kind of dystopian disclaimer. The progression from confident senior dev to crying mess is *chef's kiss*. Turns out being senior means less coding and more explaining why things take time to people who think development is just typing really fast. Welcome to the dark side, where your IDE collects dust and your Zoom background is more familiar than your own bedroom.

Posi Tion

Posi Tion
Your ergonomics instructor shows you the textbook-perfect sitting posture with proper back support and monitor height. Then there's you, slouched in your chair like a shrimp, feet up on the desk, basically melting into the furniture while your spine files for divorce. But hey, the code compiles, so who's really winning here? The "let's talk about syntax" screen is chef's kiss—because nothing says "I care about proper form" like completely ignoring it in every aspect of your work life. Your chiropractor's retirement fund thanks you for your service.

This Never Fucking Works

This Never Fucking Works
Microsoft's login system asking if you want to stay signed in, promising to "reduce the number of times you are asked to sign in." Then there's the "Don't show this again" checkbox. Spoiler alert: you'll see this dialog tomorrow. And the day after. And every single day until the heat death of the universe. These checkboxes are basically digital placebos. You click them with hope in your heart, believing this time will be different. It never is. Microsoft will ask you to sign in again before you finish your coffee. The checkbox might as well say "Click here to feel momentarily empowered before we ignore your preferences entirely." The "Yes" button to stay signed in? Also decorative. Your session will expire faster than milk left on a radiator.

Basically Microsoft Copilot

Basically Microsoft Copilot
Every developer's relationship with Copilot in two frames. First you're all polite about it, nodding along like "ah yes, very innovative, love what you've done with the place." Then reality kicks in and you're frantically googling how to turn off the AI that keeps autocompleting your variable names into Shakespearean sonnets. It's like having an overly enthusiastic intern who won't stop suggesting "improvements" to your perfectly functional code. Sure, it can write a binary search tree, but can it stop interrupting me every three seconds? Didn't think so.

I Hate It Here

I Hate It Here
Nothing says "the future is bright" quite like someone predicting that by 2026, we'll all just collectively agree to ship mediocre code because AI can spit out working garbage faster than we can write clean, maintainable solutions. The argument here is basically: "Why spend time writing beautiful, well-architected code when your competitors are speed-running to production with AI-generated slop?" The term "slop" is doing some heavy lifting here—it's that perfect blend of "it compiles" and "I have no idea what it does." Sure, shipping velocity matters, but there's a special kind of dystopia where code quality becomes a competitive disadvantage . The comment "we all died in 2020 and this is hell" really ties it together. Because honestly? A world where craftsmanship loses to quantity, where technical debt is a feature not a bug, and where AI-assisted copy-paste becomes the gold standard... yeah, that tracks as hell. The real kicker is that this isn't even satire—it's a genuine concern about where the industry is headed when speed trumps everything else.

Scrum

Scrum
So you picked up a Scrum book thinking it'd be all sunshine and productivity improvements. The poster promises magical collaboration and efficient sprints. You open it with hope in your heart. What you actually get: an endless hellscape of daily standups that take 45 minutes, retrospectives where nothing changes, sprint planning meetings that could've been an email, and story point debates that make you question your entire career path. The book forgot to mention that "ceremonies" is just corporate speak for "meetings that will drain your soul." The real kicker? You still have to write code between all these meetings.

Happened To Me Today

Happened To Me Today
That beautiful moment when you discover a bug in production code you just shipped, and your heart stops because QA is already testing it. Then somehow, miraculously, they give it a thumbs up without catching your mistake. Relief washes over you like a warm blanket... until your brain kicks in and realizes: "Wait, if they missed THIS bug, what else are they missing?" Suddenly that green checkmark feels less like validation and more like a ticking time bomb. Welcome to the trust issues developers develop after years in the industry. Now you're stuck wondering if you should quietly fix it and pretend nothing happened, or accept that your safety net has more holes than a fishing net made of spaghetti code.

Wait What...

Wait What...
You know that mini heart attack when the compiler says "Error on line 42" and you frantically scroll to line 42, only to find it's a completely innocent closing brace? Then you look at line 43 and see the actual problem starting there. The error message is technically correct but also absolutely useless because the real issue is never where it claims to be. Compilers have this delightful habit of detecting errors at the point where they finally give up trying to make sense of your code, not where you actually messed up. That missing semicolon on line 38? The compiler won't notice until line 42 when it's like "wait, what is happening here?" It's the developer equivalent of your GPS saying "you missed your turn" three blocks after you actually missed it. Thanks, I hate it.

Trust Me Bro I Wrote This

Trust Me Bro I Wrote This
You know you've achieved peak engineering when your code-to-comment ratio is inverted and you're sprinkling emojis like they're syntactic sugar. The interviewer's trying to figure out if you're a genius documenting every breath the code takes or if you just couldn't decide what the function actually does so you left a trail of 🤔💭🚀 instead. Nothing screams "production-ready" quite like: // 🔥 this might break idk // TODO: fix later (narrator: it was never fixed) function doTheThing() { ... } The sweating intensifies as they realize your "documentation" is essentially a diary entry with more feelings than facts. But hey, at least future you will know you were confused AND whimsical when you wrote it.

Always Use Original Product

Always Use Original Product
When your mouse looks like it survived the Jurassic period and you're pairing it with a pristine Microsoft keyboard. Someone clearly has their priorities sorted—invest in the keyboard for those epic typing sessions, but the mouse? Nah, that ancient potato-shaped relic held together by prayers and dust will do just fine. The contrast here is chef's kiss: one peripheral living its best life in 2024, the other literally decomposing on your desk. But hey, if it still clicks, it ships. Why waste money on a new mouse when you can just... suffer? Peak developer energy right here—we'll optimize our code to perfection but won't replace hardware that looks like an archaeological find.