The Great AI Washing Scandal

While scientists fret about AI overlords, some of us have found a more practical solution to the robot uprising. Nothing says "checkmate, Skynet" like a well-aimed shower head to the motherboard. Sure, they might develop consciousness, but they haven't figured out waterproofing yet. The oldest IT solution in the book: have you tried turning it off and making it wet forever?

When the job posting says "Junior Developer - 0-2 years experience" but also requires "Expert in 17 frameworks, machine learning, quantum computing, and ability to debug code by smell alone." That's how we end up with this 55-year-old "junior" looking like he's seen some shit. By 2025, entry-level positions will require you to have invented time travel just to acquire the necessary experience. The name tag is just the cherry on top - "AI Technician" because apparently, that's what we're calling "copy-pasting from Stack Overflow with extra steps" these days.

Garbage in, garbage out—but with extra steps! When you feed an AI model your terrible code as training data, don't act shocked when it spits back equally terrible solutions. It's like teaching a parrot all your worst swear words and then being surprised when it curses during family dinner. The circle of code life continues: your technical debt just found a way to reproduce itself through artificial intelligence.

The irony is palpable! A job posting demanding "50% of code must be done by AI" while simultaneously requiring you to sacrifice your firstborn to the startup gods. Let me translate this corporate poetry: "We want cutting-edge AI integration, but also need you in an overpriced SF apartment, grinding weekends away while jet-setting to client sites. Your work-life balance? Sorry, that's not in our Jira board." The "vibe coding experience" requirement is just chef's kiss perfection. Because nothing says "we understand modern development" like demanding both AI automation AND soul-crushing overtime in the same breath.

Content MAIL HITTEM

Ah, the eternal developer paradox. When someone shows us AI-generated code, we instantly recognize it as a tangled mess of bugs and questionable design choices. "This is brilliant," we say with thinly veiled sarcasm. But then there's our own code—equally disastrous, probably held together with duct tape and prayers—and somehow we're irrationally attached to it. "But I like this." It's like criticizing someone else's kid for being messy while your own demon spawn is literally setting the house on fire. The cognitive dissonance is strong in this profession.