Good Devs Are Expensive Until Disaster Strikes

Corporate espionage at its finest. Imagine hiring developers from your competitor only to discover they've been secretly committing garbage code to your repos. The anime facepalm perfectly captures that moment when you realize the "talent acquisition" was actually a Trojan horse operation. The Japanese "計画" (keikaku) in the title translates to "plan" - a nod to the classic anime meme "all according to keikaku," because nothing says strategic sabotage like unnecessarily using Japanese terms in your evil plotting.

The classic tech hype cycle in its natural habitat. First, AI writes 90% of code. Then AI writes 100% of code. Then reality hits and humans get paid premium wages to fix the AI's spaghetti code. Reminds me of that time we deployed an "automated" monitoring system that generated so many false alerts we had to hire three people just to monitor the monitoring system. Progress!

Finally, someone brave enough to decode the cryptic art of version numbering! The major version gets bumped when you're feeling particularly smug about your code. The minor version? That's just for the mundane Tuesday releases. But that patch number? That's where the bodies are buried—all those emergency fixes for bugs you swore didn't exist during code review. "No no, that 123 isn't a frantic weekend of hotfixes... it's a feature richness indicator ." Sure, buddy. We all know the truth behind those triple-digit patches. It's basically a shame counter.

Package maintainers gleefully choosing chaos over stability is the tech equivalent of a supervillain origin story. Left button: destroy everything that depends on your package with breaking changes. Right button: be a decent human who cares about backward compatibility. The choice? SMASH THAT RED BUTTON! Nothing says "I wield ultimate power" like releasing a tiny version bump that somehow breaks 73% of the internet. The maniacal grin is just the cherry on top of the dependency hell sundae they're serving us all.

Nothing says "I'm having a fantastic day" quite like spending three hours navigating through 25-step deployment processes just to change a single button's text. Enterprise apps: where simple tasks require committee approval, seven different environments, and a blood sacrifice to the legacy code gods. The best part? When you finally reach step 17, you realize you forgot to update a config file back at step 3. Pure. Developer. Bliss.

The absurdity of modern software bloat in one perfect screenshot! A 10KB JPEG requires 152.77GB of space? That's like needing an aircraft carrier to deliver a postcard. Game developers be like: "We fixed a typo in the credits. Download size: 87GB." Meanwhile, entire operating systems from the 90s fit on a floppy disk. The driveway analogy is brilliant—having storage space doesn't justify developers treating your SSD like their personal dumping ground. No, I don't want to sacrifice 1/4 of my hard drive because you couldn't be bothered to implement delta patching.