Gonna Run It In My Github Actions Later

Ah, the infamous Unity compression algorithm at work! What you're witnessing is a 3D model that started as a beautiful, high-resolution asset and ended up looking like it was rendered on a calculator from 1997. Unity's asset compression is so aggressive it could compress the Mona Lisa into a stick figure. Game devs spend hours crafting detailed models only for Unity to say "that's cute, let me fix that for you" and turn it into something that looks like it was excavated from the ruins of early PlayStation games. Pro tip: If you squint really hard, you might be able to convince yourself it still looks good in-game!

You've got a GPU that could render the entire MCU in real-time, a CPU that's basically a supercomputer, and then there's your case—a literal rust bucket held together by prayers and duct tape. It's giving "spent all my money on the engine and forgot I need a body" energy. Your components are living in luxury while your case looks like it survived three wars and a flood. The hardware equivalent of wearing Gucci socks with Crocs. Priorities? Never heard of her.

The gaming industry has discovered the cheat code to infinite money: slap "roguelike" and "soulslike" on everything and watch the sales roll in. Good price? Check. Good graphics? Check. Original gameplay? Nah, just make it punishingly difficult with permadeath and call it a day. It's like every game studio had a meeting and decided "why innovate when we can just copy Dark Souls and Hades?" The indie scene is 90% roguelikes at this point, and AAA studios are scrambling to add "souls-inspired combat" to everything from racing games to farming simulators. Next up: roguelike soulslike dating sim where you die if you pick the wrong dialogue option. Game devs realized it's easier to make players replay the same content 50 times through procedural generation than to actually create 50 hours of unique content. Brilliant cost optimization, terrible for my controller which has been thrown across the room multiple times.

Valve Corporation, masters of creating legendary games but allergic to the number 3. They've given us Portal 1, Portal 2... then nothing. Half-Life, Half-Life 2... then radio silence for decades. Meanwhile, they're busy pumping out gaming hardware like Steam Deck and VR headsets with the sad stick figure muttering "i guess we make Hardware" instead of finishing what they started. The ultimate software development strategy: when you can't figure out how to count to 3, just pivot to hardware! Gabe Newell probably has a phobia of trilogies stronger than most developers' fear of touching legacy code.

The ultimate digital irony: Netflix shutting down games forever while the EU waves its "Stop Killing Games" flag in the background. It's the corporate equivalent of saying "I can't hear you over the sound of my profit margins!" This perfectly captures the disconnect between streaming giants and digital preservation. While gamers and regulators beg for ways to preserve online games after servers go offline, Netflix just hits the mute button and keeps serving those sweet, sweet streams. The real punchline? Those "forever offline" games are just lines of code that could totally be preserved—if anyone with power actually cared about digital heritage instead of quarterly earnings. Meanwhile, pirates are in the corner thinking "challenge accepted."

The ultimate flex in computing isn't fancy algorithms or clean code—it's getting Doom to run on literally anything with a circuit board. The iconic FPS game has been ported to calculators, printers, ATMs, and probably your smart fridge by now. It's basically the "Hello World" of hardware hacking, except with demons and shotguns. Those little cacodemon sprites at the bottom perfectly represent the gleeful chaos developers feel when they manage to cram a 1993 game into yet another device that has absolutely no business running it. Because in the world of tech, the question isn't "can we?" but "why haven't we yet?"