In Git We Trust

When your Git push gets rejected by some obscure rule you didn't know existed. The terminal's giving you ASCII art of a dragon guarding your repo like it's a medieval treasure vault! That "Herald push rule H149" might as well be written in ancient runes. Nothing says "your code isn't worthy" quite like being denied by a mythical creature made of forward slashes and zeroes. Somewhere, a senior dev is cackling while sipping coffee from their "Git Gud" mug.

The sacred rule of Git: force pushing is like playing with explosives. On your own feature branch? Sure, blow it up, it's your mess to clean. But on master? You've just committed the cardinal sin of version control. That -f flag might as well stand for "future regret" when you obliterate everyone else's work with your divine intervention. Nothing says "I'm the captain now" quite like rewriting shared history without consent. Pro tip: Want to make enemies at work? Force push to master on Friday at 4:55 PM and turn off Slack notifications.

The classic software development Schrödinger experiment: tests are both passing and failing simultaneously until you observe the coverage. Sure, the GitHub badge proudly shows green with "Tests passing" - technically not lying. Meanwhile, the 0% coverage badge silently screams "we wrote exactly ONE test that checks if true equals true." The digital equivalent of putting a single piece of tape over your check engine light and declaring the car "fully serviced."

That sweet, sweet vindication when you're falsely accused of breaking production with your commit. Nothing quite like the moment when evidence clears your name and the real culprit is found lurking in someone else's spaghetti code. Meanwhile, the entire dev team already sent you 37 passive-aggressive Slack messages.

When your PR shows "-9,953" lines of code and your manager gives you a thumbs up. Nothing says "senior developer" like knowing what code not to write. The most efficient code is the code that doesn't exist. Somewhere a project manager is frantically updating their burndown chart while wondering how to report "negative progress" to stakeholders.

The twisted chimney labeled "your code" next to the perfectly straight one labeled "code on github" is the most accurate representation of coding reality I've ever seen. You spend hours wrestling with that monstrosity of nested if-statements and undocumented hacks, but the moment you push to a public repo, suddenly it's all clean architecture and design patterns. That twisted brick column is basically every production codebase I've ever inherited – somehow functional despite defying all laws of software engineering and basic physics. The real miracle is that both chimneys still manage to do their one job: let the smoke out when things are on fire.