I Like To Refactor Often

In the realm of developer clout, 500 GitHub followers makes you practically royalty, while 2 million YouTube subscribers is just... meh. Nothing says "I've made it" like having a handful of fellow nerds who appreciate your elegant solutions to problems nobody else understands. YouTube fame is for the masses—GitHub fame is for the classes. The true knights of the coding round table don't need dance videos and clickbait thumbnails to prove their worth—just clean commits and well-documented PRs.

The stick figure is all of us who've learned this lesson the hard way. Push to production on Friday, and suddenly your weekend becomes an unpaid extension of your work week. Nothing says "I hate my personal life" quite like deploying that "tiny fix" at 4:55 PM on Friday, then spending Saturday debugging while your friends are having fun without you. The universal developer commandment: thou shalt not tempt the deployment gods when happy hour beckons.

When your entire career revolves around version control but you can't control your dad jokes. The classic naming convention gone wrong—kid's not a branch you can just merge later! Somewhere in the world, there's a developer named "Commit" whose dad thought he was being clever. The real tragedy? That kid probably grew up to use Mercurial instead.

When your branch is stable enough for production but senior devs won't give you merge permissions. Welcome to git politics, where your code's quality matters less than your job title. The irony of being told to fix merge conflicts when you're literally not allowed to merge. That commit hash at the bottom is probably longer than your career at this company.

The Git workflow massacre in three acts: First, we see a majestic Airbus A350 on the runway - that's git commit , your changes safely packaged and ready. Next, the plane gloriously takes flight - git push sending your code to the remote repository. But wait! The punchline: git add is just people climbing stairs to nowhere. Because if you push without adding files first, you're essentially sending an empty plane. Nothing gets deployed except your career prospects. It's the classic "why isn't my code in production?" moment right before the horrifying realization that you've been committing and pushing literal nothingness for the past hour.

The ultimate power trip isn't becoming CEO—it's being the sole developer on your own repository. Nothing quite matches the thrill of creating a pull request, switching accounts, and giving yourself a glowing review before smashing that merge button. "Excellent code, me. Very clean implementation." Who needs code reviews when you can have a meaningful conversation with yourself? It's basically the software development equivalent of giving yourself a medal... while nobody's watching.