Don't Actually Do This

The first comment: "When I do git blame, it's not about finding the person who did the mistake. I want to find out when the code was added, which task it was related to, and if I need more details, the person who wrote the code." The reply: "I use git blame just to make sure it wasn't me before I go on a tirade..." Ah yes, the two types of developers. The professional who uses tools for their intended purpose, and the rest of us who just want plausible deniability before ranting in Slack. Nothing quite like that moment of relief when you discover someone else wrote that abomination, followed by the crushing realization it was actually you from three years ago.

The heroic tale of saving an entire company from certain doom... by hitting git reset --hard HEAD~1 and pretending you're a genius. The corporate equivalent of turning it off and on again, but with more dramatic flair and a significantly larger bonus check.

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."

You think your spaghetti code is worth hiding because it might make you money? Please. I hide my code because if anyone saw those nested if-statements and variable names like temp1 , temp2 , and please_work_final_v3 , I'd never get hired again. My GitHub is a carefully curated lie that bears no resemblance to the eldritch horrors I commit to private repos at 4AM.

When Google thinks you're having an existential crisis, but you're just trying to fix your codebase! Merge conflicts—where Git basically says "I have no idea which version of this code to keep, YOU figure it out." Those dreaded red and green highlights that make you question your career choices. Google's algorithm has clearly been trained on developer tears, immediately offering the suicide prevention hotline as if to say, "We know what resolving merge conflicts does to a person's mental state." The psychological stages of a merge conflict: denial, anger, bargaining with git, depression, and finally just force-pushing to main when nobody's looking.

When your GitHub contribution graph spells out "SEND HELP" but your manager just sees random green squares. Nothing says "I need vacation" quite like turning your desperate coding schedule into a cryptic message visible only to fellow developers. Those specific days off? Just trying to avoid completing the 'D' in 'HELP' because that's when the real breakdown happens.