Git Add All Without Updating The Gitignore

The horror! The absolute existential dread of discovering your old code lurking in a production codebase. It's like opening a time capsule filled with questionable life choices and embarrassing fashion statements, except this one can crash servers. Every developer has that moment of "who wrote this garbage?" followed by the soul-crushing realization that you are the author of said garbage. The code you wrote six months ago might as well have been written by your evil twin who hates documentation and future-you specifically. The box isn't just holding code—it's containing your shame, your technical debt, and that "temporary" solution that somehow survived three major releases. Touch it? You'd rather stick your hand in a blender. At least the blender would be honest about its intentions.

The Cold War of code ownership! In the top panel, Bugs Bunny proudly stands with an American flag background declaring "My code" when "Coding something at work" - because let's face it, we're all territorial creatures with our precious functions. But the second panel reveals the brutal truth of team development: the moment there's a bug, suddenly the Soviet hammer and sickle appears behind Bugs with "Our bug" plastered across it. Nothing transforms individual achievement into collective responsibility faster than a production error. The proprietary-to-communist pipeline takes approximately 0.2 seconds when QA finds an issue.

That moment when a junior dev proudly announces they've "cleaned up" the codebase by removing "unused" functions, and suddenly the entire production environment collapses like a tree cut from its support. The code wasn't commented because the senior who wrote it was too busy putting out other fires to document why that "useless" function was actually holding up the entire architecture. Five minutes before the demo, everyone's frantically digging through Git history trying to figure out what the hell that Pink Panther function actually did.

OH. MY. GOD. The absolute HORROR of receiving an email where GitLab couldn't even be bothered to replace their Lorem Ipsum placeholder text! 😱 Nothing says "valued GitLab user" quite like "Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet" followed by some Latin gibberish that probably translates to "we copy-pasted this template and forgot to fill it in." The cherry on top? That ominous subject line about your project storage being DELETED while the actual email body is just vibing in placeholder land. Somewhere, a developer is having a complete meltdown realizing they pushed to production without checking their email templates. RIP to their weekend!

The only happy person in this lineup is the programmer surrounded by colorful syntax highlighting while everyone else deals with relationship drama. The rest are stuck in arguments that could've been avoided with a simple git commit. Relationship status: Committed to master branch.

You know that feeling when you refactor a single variable name and suddenly Git thinks you've rewritten the entire codebase? Yeah, 34 files changed because you decided to update some import paths or tweak a shared constant. Smooth sailing, quick review, merge it and move on. But then there's that OTHER pull request. The one where you fix a critical bug by changing literally two lines of actual logic. Maybe you added a null check or fixed an off-by-one error. And suddenly your PR has 12 comments dissecting your life choices, questioning your understanding of computer science fundamentals, and suggesting you read a 400-page book on design patterns before touching production code again. The code review gods have a twisted sense of humor. Large diffs? "LGTM." Small, surgical changes? Time for a philosophical debate about whether your variable should be called isValid or valid .