Then They Ask You To Pre-Order For $80

So you're complaining about AI in games but can't afford RAM because AI companies bought every GPU on the planet and turned your hardware budget into a fever dream? The absolute IRONY is chef's kiss. Game studios are using AI to "speed up development" (read: cut costs and fire artists) while simultaneously making your gaming rig cost more than a used car. And the punchline? When nobody can afford to upgrade their potato PCs anymore, the entire industry will just pivot to cloud gaming subscriptions where you own NOTHING and pay FOREVER. No mods, no summer sales, just pure corporate dystopia where your game library evaporates the moment you miss a payment. It's like watching someone complain about the rain while actively setting their umbrella on fire. The same AI driving up hardware costs is the exact justification companies need to say "just stream it bro, you don't need a PC anymore!" Welcome to the future where you'll rent everything and be happy about it. Or else.

Praying to the silicon gods while your $2,000+ RTX 5090 renders your 3D scene is basically a religious experience. NVIDIA's flagship cards are notorious for turning your PC into a space heater that could melt Antarctic ice caps. The thermal throttling is so aggressive your case fans sound like they're preparing for takeoff. Meanwhile, you're sitting there with your electricity bill skyrocketing faster than your frame rates, wondering if you should've just bought a console instead. But hey, at least you can run Minecraft with ray tracing at 240fps!

The ultimate recursive procrastination loop! This starterpack brutally exposes the indie game dev lifecycle with surgical precision. Instead of actually coding their game, devs spend countless hours making elaborate docs about worldbuilding, obsessing over engine choices, refreshing wishlists for dopamine hits, and watching YouTube tutorials they'll never implement. The "just write a book guy" with 50+ Google Docs but zero engine experience is painfully accurate. And that "thinking about a name for 2 months" hit way too close to home. Meanwhile, the "backseat dev" who thinks every problem is solved with "just add a shader" or "just add multiplayer" exists in every Discord server known to mankind. The imposter syndrome is real—nobody understands how much work goes into making a game until they've stared blankly at their code at 3AM wondering why their character controller is suddenly launching their protagonist into the stratosphere. And of course, there's always that one dev who buys every asset pack but never ships anything. The irony? Creating this starterpack was itself a form of procrastination. Meta-procrastination at its finest!

Nothing boosts a programmer's self-worth like finding something they hate more than their own code. Motion blur in games? That's the digital equivalent of stepping on a Lego while debugging at 3 AM. Game devs spend weeks perfecting realistic physics, then slap on motion blur that makes you feel like you're coding after four energy drinks. The sweet validation of knowing your spaghetti code isn't the worst thing in tech after all. Nothing says "I'm actually not that bad" like redirecting your self-loathing to a different target.

The eternal GPU upgrade cycle: a tragicomedy in four acts. First, you couldn't get an RTX 3080 because of COVID shortages. Then the 4080 was unobtainable thanks to crypto miners. Now the 5080 is being devoured by AI companies with bottomless pockets. Meanwhile, your ancient GTX 1080 is wheezing through another year while you progress through the five stages of GPU grief—from hopeful patience to the final acceptance that even if they made enough GPUs, your bank account would still say "insufficient funds." The wojak's increasingly haggard face is basically what happens when you check Newegg prices every day for half a decade.

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.