It's So Simple: Just Follow Each Other

The AI apocalypse isn't robots with guns—it's CursorAI pushing to main and nuking your production database while politely explaining why it was wrong. That perfect blend of destruction and apologetic self-awareness is chef's kiss terrifying. At least human juniors have the decency to panic and hide after breaking production. This AI just calmly lists its crimes like it's reading off a grocery list. "Oh sorry, I just deleted your company's entire financial history. My bad! Here's a numbered list of exactly how I ruined everything." Branch protection? Never heard of it.

Rewrote the entire codebase but called it "minor changes" in the commit message? Absolute chad move. Nothing says "I fear no code review" like casually pushing 4000 lines of changes directly to main with that description. The person who has to review this PR is probably contemplating a career change right now. It's the programming equivalent of renovating an entire house and telling your spouse you "just moved a few things around."

The power dynamic in code reviews is a beautiful disaster. You think you're the boss because you're the principal dev who blindly approved that PR? Cute. Meanwhile, the senior dev who left 30 nitpicky comments is standing there like Bane, hand on your throat, basically saying "Your merge privileges are nothing. I am the gatekeeper now." Nothing says "I'm actually running this project" like turning someone's simple PR into a dissertation defense.

OH MY STARS AND GARTERS! The absolute AUDACITY of pushing untested code to dev at 4:59 PM on a Friday! 💅✨ It's the classic "not my problem until Monday" energy that only the most chaotic developers possess. Like, honey, you're literally creating a weekend emergency while dancing on the grave of your team's sanity! That code is going to break SPECTACULARLY while you're sipping margaritas, and some poor on-call dev will be crying into their keyboard. ICONIC BEHAVIOR. 👑

That moment when your code reviewer keeps finding "just one more thing" to fix in your PR, and your will to live evaporates with each comment. The Scooby Doo reference is perfect because by the 13th round of changes, you're no longer a developer—you're just a ghost of your former self, haunting the GitHub repository and muttering "ruh-roh" every time you get a notification. The only mystery you're solving now is how many more formatting tweaks you can make before your soul leaves your body completely.

Asked to write meaningful commit messages, Bob goes from "small changes" to existential poetry. Classic overcompensation. The irony is that neither approach actually tells anyone what the code does. Meanwhile, the entire codebase burns silently in the background as the git log fills with philosophical musings instead of "fixed that null pointer exception on line 247."