Steam Sales: The Publisher's Nightmare

The endless cycle of mod addiction strikes again! Your poor computer is basically begging for mercy like an overworked employee on their 12th straight hour. "Just one more mod" is the programmer equivalent of "just one more line of code before bed" – a dangerous lie we tell ourselves right before everything crashes spectacularly. Your PC's cooling fans are probably screaming louder than a junior dev who just pushed to production without testing.

Game engines: either drowning in endless menus or making you frantically jump through hoops to accomplish basic tasks. The comic nails it by sorting them into just two categories - "menus" (looking at you, Unity) or "parkour" (hello, Unreal). Anyone who's tried to find that one specific setting buried in Unity's seventeen nested dropdown menus knows the pain. Meanwhile, Unreal devs are performing mental gymnastics just to implement a simple "Hello World" blueprint. And poor Unity, getting called out for "jumping around a lot" yet still being classified as "menus" - the ultimate burn for an engine trying so hard to be developer-friendly. It's like being told you dance like a spreadsheet.

The evolution of gamer expectations is brutal. In 1997, blocky polygons had us gasping in awe like we'd seen the face of God. By 2013, we're complaining about "pixelated" graphics that would've melted our 90s brains. Fast forward to 2020, and we're cursing our $2000 rigs for struggling with photorealistic landscapes that NASA couldn't have rendered 10 years ago. It's the tech equivalent of kids today not understanding why we were excited about 56k modems. "What do you mean you had to WAIT for images to load? Like, more than 0.001 seconds?" Meanwhile, developers are in the corner having nervous breakdowns trying to render individual pores on NPCs that players will rocket-launch into oblivion anyway.

Ah, the classic game dev descent into madness. Starting with bright-eyed optimism about using Godot's C# API, then slowly spiraling into technical debt hell. First, you're excited about making a game. Then you're hunting for that perfect 3D model that's probably held together with duct tape and prayers. By the third stage, you're realizing your codebase is built on an outdated engine version and needs complete refactoring. And finally... the thousand-yard stare when you hit 3000+ errors. That's not a compiler error count—that's a cry for help. The best part? We all know you'll do it again on your next project. Because we're game devs, and apparently we enjoy suffering.

The indie game development struggle in one perfect Spider-Man meme. When a highly anticipated game like Silksong (the sequel to Hollow Knight) announces its release, smaller developers go from cursing its existence to thanking it for the spotlight spillover. That wasp-headed Spider-Man is basically every tiny game studio realizing they can ride the coattails of a major release to get visibility on Steam's front page. It's the digital equivalent of opening your lemonade stand next to a Taylor Swift concert and hoping people get thirsty on their way in.

The escalating terror of computer components at 100% utilization is painfully accurate. GPU and CPU maxed out? Mildly concerning but whatever. Disk at 100%? Now we're entering horror territory. RAM maxed? Pure dread as your system crawls to a halt. But VRM (Voltage Regulator Module) at 100%? That's straight-up "prepare for your hardware funeral" territory. Nothing says "I should have bought a better power supply" like the smell of burning electronics and the sight of your precious gaming rig becoming a very expensive paperweight. The progression from "this is fine" to "call the fire department" has never been more accurately depicted.