It Wasn't Me: The Git Blame Game

The perfect encapsulation of developer chaos energy. First guy proudly declares "I'm merging it. fuck the tests" with the confidence of someone who's never had to debug a production outage at 2am. Then the follow-up comment claiming test writing is "a sign of weakness" - spoken like someone whose LinkedIn profile probably lists "School of Hard Knocks" as their education. Future them will be frantically typing "how to revert git push force" while their Slack fills with angry messages from coworkers. The bravado of the untested merge is the software equivalent of saying "hold my beer" before attempting a backflip off the roof.

You spend three weeks crafting your Python masterpiece, push it to GitHub, and within minutes some random dev comments "where's the executable?" These monkeys don't understand that Python IS interpreted. They're probably the same people who ask for the manager's phone number at a self-checkout. Next they'll want you to compile HTML too.

The eternal cycle of developer enthusiasm. Top frame: joyfully playing with the shiny new project while completely ignoring last week's project drowning right next to you. Bottom frame: your GitHub graveyard—a haunting underwater boneyard of abandoned repositories that will never see a commit again. The real horror isn't the code quality; it's the commitment issues.

The iceberg of developer productivity! That tiny visible tip labeled "Actually Writing Code" represents the 15 minutes of actual coding you do in a day. Meanwhile, lurking beneath the surface is the massive time-sink monster called "Setting Up The Local Environment" - that hellscape where you spend 7 hours fighting dependency conflicts, configuring Docker containers that refuse to play nice, and Googling cryptic error messages that have exactly one result on StackOverflow from 2014 with no answers. The real programming job description should just be "Professional Environment Configurator who occasionally types a semicolon."

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.

That moment when GitHub Copilot helpfully suggests your private API key that you accidentally committed to a repo six months ago. Nothing like having your $5000/month AWS bill exposed by an AI that's just trying to be helpful. Security through obscurity fails again.