Artificial Intelligence Or Natural Stupidity: Call It

The year is 2025. Microsoft has fully absorbed GitHub, and the dystopian nightmare begins. GitHub users cower in fear as Microsoft whispers "Come closer..." only to drop the bombshell: "I NEED YOU TO ADD IPV6 SUPPORT TO GITHUB." It's the ultimate plot twist! After all the fears of Microsoft injecting telemetry, ads, or subscription tiers into GitHub, they're just desperately trying to drag their acquisition into modern networking standards. Still running on legacy IPv4 in 2025? That's the real horror story! The internet ran out of IPv4 addresses years ago, but GitHub's still clinging to them like SpongeBob to his spatula.

The fearless warrior of code until Git throws that dreaded merge conflict error. Suddenly the bravest developer becomes a helpless child begging an AI to fix their mess. We've all been there—confidently pushing changes at 4:59 PM on Friday, only to have Git remind us we're not as clever as we thought. Nothing humbles you faster than seeing those <<<<<<< HEAD markers turn your beautiful code into abstract art.

OMG the DRAMA in the design world vs. the absolute CHILL of programmer nation! 💅 Designers are over here having MELTDOWNS over similar ideas like it's the end of civilization, while programmers are just casually confessing grand theft code and nobody bats an eye! The second programmer is basically saying "Bold of you to assume I wrote this myself" because let's be REAL - we're all just copying from Stack Overflow and GitHub like it's a cosmic buffet of free code. The entire software industry is basically a giant game of digital hot potato where nobody knows who baked the original potato! Why reinvent the wheel when someone's already posted a perfectly good wheel on GitHub with an MIT license? *hair flip*

Nothing says "I'm deeply in love" like naming your Git branch feature/sarah-you-complete-me . Developers might not write songs, but we immortalize our crushes in commit messages that only 3 other people will ever read. The real romance is when you push to production and whisper "this one's for you" as you break the entire codebase. Who needs mixtapes when you can dedicate a Stack Overflow question to your beloved? "Dear Jessica, this segmentation fault represents my heart without you."

The enthusiasm of typing git init versus the crushing weight of responsibility that follows is a universal constant. It's that moment when you're like "I'm gonna build the next billion-dollar app!" and then your side project stares down at you judgmentally from the rooftop of abandoned ambition for the next 3 years. The folder sits there, taking up 12KB of disk space and 600GB of guilt.

Oh, the sacred archetypes of code warriors! The Paladin with their holy linter crusade (because tabs vs spaces wasn't divisive enough). The Monk crafting artisanal frameworks while typing on a Model M keyboard that sounds like a machine gun. The Sorcerer whose one-liners are so cryptic they might as well be summoning demons—their code works through sheer dark magic until Mercury goes retrograde. The Warlock maintaining COBOL systems from the 1970s, bound by ancient contracts and the souls of retired programmers. And finally, the Bard, whose documentation haikus somehow charm project managers into extending deadlines. The most terrifying part? We all know at least one of each in our dev team. And if you don't... it might be you.