The C Compiler's Diabolical Indifference

Linus finally found the ultimate disciplinary tool for kernel developers: threatening them with Rust. It's like telling your kids they'll have to eat vegetables if they don't behave, except the vegetables are memory safety and the kids are C programmers who've been writing unsafe code since 1991. The satire nails it—Rust was "created as a way to punish software developers" who "really had it coming." Because nothing says punishment like borrow checkers, lifetimes, and compiler errors that read like philosophical dissertations. The best part? One developer is relieved it's not Perl. That's how you know things have gotten serious—when Rust is the *merciful* option. Torvalds wielding Rust as a threat is peak Linux energy. "Shape up or you're rewriting that driver with lifetime annotations."

The C++ programmer's 3 AM nightmare in full display. First the Rust evangelists tell you your beloved language is "unsafe" and you need to switch. Then they warn that all your code will be rewritten in Rust anyway, so prepare for unemployment. Finally, the dream escalates to its horrifying conclusion: "QUIT HAVING FUN" – because how dare you enjoy your pointer arithmetic and manual memory management? It's the programming equivalent of vegans telling meat-eaters they'll die of heart disease while you're just trying to enjoy your steak. Meanwhile, the C++ dev lies awake, haunted by the thought that maybe – just maybe – they should learn Rust before their GitHub contributions become vintage artifacts in the Computer History Museum.

Confessing your forbidden love for Python in the programming church? Straight to developer hell! The irony is Python's supposed to be the "pure" language with its clean syntax, yet we're all secretly seduced by its indentation-based structure and one-liners that make other languages look like verbose garbage. The real sin is how productive you become while other devs are still fighting with semicolons and curly braces. Forgiveness not guaranteed from the C++ priesthood.

Dinner conversation takes a nerdy turn when someone asks for salt and the programmer at the table immediately needs to know the parameter passing method. Just another day of being unable to turn off the code brain. The rest of the family has learned to specify their variable scoping before requesting condiments.

When the interviewer asks you to write a loop but you've been optimizing code since the Pentium era. Why waste precious CPU cycles on branch prediction and loop overhead when you can just manually unroll that bad boy? Sure, it looks like you're writing code with your face, but technically you're just doing the compiler's job for it. Modern problems require ancient solutions that haven't been relevant since 1997. Your interviewer is either going to hire you immediately or quietly escort you from the building. No middle ground.

The Church of Open Source has quite the congregation. The prophet? Richard Stallman, with his flowing locks and GNU gospel. The Bible? The legendary K&R C Programming book that's baptized generations of developers. The altar? That standing desk where we've all sacrificed countless hours debugging. And the God? Tux the Linux penguin, obviously—the deity who never crashes (just occasionally requires a sacrifice of obscure terminal commands). I've been worshipping at this church for 20 years, and let me tell you, the prayers sound suspiciously like Stack Overflow questions. "Dear Tux, why the hell is my pointer arithmetic causing segfaults? I swear I'll never use global variables again if you just fix this build."