10000 Line PR? LGTM, LOL

The fifth developer is the one who wrote the code being reviewed. Nothing quite like watching your peers beat your spaghetti code to death with sticks while you crawl on the ground wondering why you didn't add those comments they suggested last time. Just another Tuesday in software development.

The martial arts of version control! Nothing strikes fear into the heart of a dev team like that one colleague who copy-pastes the same cryptic commit message 10,000 times. "Fixed stuff" or the dreaded "minor changes" pushed to production repeatedly is the coding equivalent of a roundhouse kick to your sanity. The true Git master isn't the one with diverse commits—it's the stubborn minimalist who refuses to elaborate what fresh hell they've introduced to the codebase. Next time you see "updates" committed for the 9,999th time, remember: empty your mind of descriptive messages, be formless, shapeless, like null...

The pot calling the kettle black has never been so ironic. Software engineers spend half their careers staring at legacy code muttering "who wrote this garbage?" before checking git blame and discovering it was themselves three months ago. The sacred ritual of cursing your predecessors' code is basically our version of a stand-up meeting - mandatory and therapeutic. Next time you're refactoring some unholy mess, remember: somewhere, an electrician is looking at your home wiring thinking the exact same thing.

You spend days crafting a pull request, refactoring everything, writing tests, adding documentation, making it absolutely beautiful. Then some bot rolls up and says "Full of AI slop, completely unhelpful" and you just... lose it. The real gut punch? Half the time the bot is right. With AI code generators flooding repos with generic solutions and copy-paste answers, human-written code is starting to look suspiciously similar to GPT's homework. We've reached the point where genuine effort gets flagged as synthetic garbage while actual AI slop sneaks through because it happened to use the right buzzwords. The Turing test has officially reversed: now we have to prove we're NOT robots.

Using Google Drive as version control? That's like using a butter knife for surgery—technically possible, but everyone watching knows something's gone horribly wrong. The sheer horror on that face says it all. Meanwhile, Git is sitting in the corner crying, wondering where it all went wrong after decades of being the industry standard. Sure, Google Drive has "version history," but let's be real—scrolling through "Code_final_FINAL_v2_actually_final.py" isn't exactly the same as proper branching and merging. But hey, at least it's better than the person who answers "my laptop" with no backups.

You come back refreshed, ready to tackle problems with a clear mind. Then you open the repo and discover your teammates have been "productive" in your absence. That innocent bug fix? Now it's a hydra—cut off one head and three more appear. The band-aid solution that ignores the underlying architectural nightmare? Check. New bugs that weren't even possible before? Double check. The best part is watching that smile slowly morph into existential dread as you realize you'll spend the next week untangling spaghetti code instead of doing actual work. Welcome back to the trenches, soldier. Your vacation tan will fade faster than your will to live.