How To Build A Pyramid Without Git Blame

The eternal ritual of the programmer: commanding the current side project to remain silent while being seduced by the siren call of a shiny new idea. That dopamine hit from starting something fresh is just *chef's kiss* - while your half-finished projects collect digital dust in that special GitHub folder we never speak of. The cemetery of "I'll get back to this later" grows another tombstone.

The sweet bliss of chaos delegation! Nothing says "not my problem anymore" like pushing an 8000-line code monstrosity to GitHub and immediately entering hibernation mode. Your colleagues will wake up to that absolute unit of a pull request while you're dreaming peacefully, completely disconnected from the impending code review apocalypse. The perfect crime doesn't exi— Meanwhile, when someone else does this to you, it's suddenly a war crime worthy of The Hague. Funny how that works.

The harsh truth of developer legacy! While you're grinding away with 80-hour weeks, stress migraines, and that fancy "Senior Architecture Solutions Engineer" title, the only thing your colleagues will actually remember is that one fateful git push -f that took down the payment system during Black Friday. Your technical brilliance? Forgotten. That time you debugged a race condition at 2AM? Nobody cares. But accidentally merge a single undefined variable to production, and suddenly you're immortalized in company folklore as "that person who cost us $2M in 15 minutes." The dev version of "you build a thousand bridges, but you **** ONE goat..."

The classic "I broke production and nobody noticed yet" panic. That moment when you push a change at 4:59 PM Friday, realize something's wrong, and frantically fix it before anyone discovers your crime. The server's down but your poker face is strong. "Just routine maintenance!" you lie through your teeth while sweating bullets and praying to the git gods that your rollback works. Meanwhile, your boss smiles, blissfully unaware that you nearly sent the company back to the stone age 3 minutes ago.

When GitHub's 1 billionth repository is literally named "shit," you know humanity has peaked. Someone created a repo with the most profound name possible, and GitHub's automated system sent a congratulatory message hoping they "build some great 💩." The universe has a sense of humor after all – a billion repositories of human innovation, and the milestone belongs to a repo that perfectly summarizes most of our code anyway.

The quintessential developer evolution captured in one perfect meme! Junior devs frantically try to memorize what every line of their code actually does, while senior devs have transcended to a higher plane of existence where they just... don't. After years of typing git commit -m "fix stuff" and console.log('why god why') , you eventually reach the zen-like state where your fingers write code your brain doesn't even fully comprehend anymore. The code works? Ship it! Documentation? That's what comments were invented for (that you'll never actually write).