I Fear No API... Except Vulkan

THE ABSOLUTE AUDACITY of this frog gentleman! Announcing his game jam creation ranked #8 out of 36 with the formality of a royal decree! 🐸👑 Two days of frantic coding, energy drinks, and existential crises—only to land in the prestigious position of... *checks notes dramatically*... EIGHTH PLACE! Not first, not even podium-worthy, but presenting it like he's discovered the cure for JavaScript callback hell! The aristocratic frog energy here is simply too powerful. We're not worthy of such distinguished mediocrity!

The final evolution of game developers isn't some fancy corporate office—it's a single caffeinated human becoming an absolute unit of productivity. Solo devs are basically SpongeBob's final form: simultaneously the designer, programmer, artist, marketer, community manager, and bug-fixer who somehow ships games while AAA studios are still deciding on the font for their loading screens. Your average solo dev has biceps built from carrying entire codebases and enough determination to make a Bethesda QA team weep. They don't have meetings about meetings—they just silently nod at themselves in the mirror before committing code at 3 AM.

Ah, the classic bait and switch of career aspirations! You start with dreams of crafting the next Skyrim, then discover game devs work 80-hour crunch weeks for the privilege of being laid off after launch. But somehow in that hellscape, you accidentally fall in love with the craft itself. It's like going to a restaurant for the steak but staying for the bread basket. The gaming industry chewed you up, but at least you got a marketable skill that lets you build CRUD apps for insurance companies at reasonable hours!

The classic developer progression: from "I made a calculator app!" to "I built an entire operating system just to run Tetris." It's like showing up to a knife fight with a nuclear warhead. Sure, your calculator adds numbers, but this madlad wrote a custom OS for a game from the 80s. Peak developer overkill. The gap between your first "Hello World" and someone's weekend project that casually reinvents computing is why Stack Overflow exists—half to get help, half to feel inadequate about your coding skills.

Ah, the classic GPU buyer's trauma in its natural habitat! Just bought that shiny RTX card with 12GB of VRAM? Congratulations, you've activated NVIDIA's trap card! Nothing triggers buyer's remorse quite like watching them announce a better version for the same price exactly 0.4 milliseconds after your purchase clears. It's almost as if Jensen Huang has a surveillance camera pointed at your "Complete Order" button. The GPU market isn't a technology sector - it's a psychological warfare experiment where we're all the lab rats.

The hierarchy of suffering in CS specializations perfectly captured in Toy Story scenes: Cybersecurity and Game Design students? Living the Buzz Lightyear dream - endless identical clones, mass-produced and overconfident. "To infinity and beyond!" (aka "I'll be making six figures right after graduation!") Operating Systems students? That's Woody with the maniacal grin. Sure, they're dealing with kernel panics and memory management, but they're still maintaining their sanity... barely. But those poor souls specializing in Compilers? Straight to the lava pit of despair. They're drowning in parsing algorithms, abstract syntax trees, and the existential dread that comes with implementing a lexer from scratch. Not even the garbage collector can save them from this hell.