It's So Simple: Just Follow Each Other

The perfect excuse has arrived! When GitHub Actions is down, productivity grinds to a halt faster than a recursive function without a base case. There's something beautifully legitimate about telling your manager "Sorry, can't deploy that critical fix - GitHub's down" while secretly enjoying your unexpected coffee break. The best part? Even the most demanding managers instantly transform from "GET BACK TO WORK" to "Oh, carry on" because they know arguing with cloud infrastructure outages is like trying to debug by adding more bugs. Sweet, sweet dependency-induced freedom.

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).

BEHOLD! The sacred rite of passage has been bestowed upon this poor, innocent soul! Getting your first merge conflict is like being initiated into a secret society where the membership fee is your sanity and several hours of your life you'll NEVER get back. The frog in formal attire announcing this catastrophic achievement with such pomp and circumstance is SENDING ME. Like honey, that's not an accomplishment, that's your villain origin story. Next up: accidentally pushing to production on a Friday afternoon and watching your entire team collectively have a meltdown. Welcome to the thunderdome of version control, sweetie! 💀

That moment of sheer horror when you're gleefully criticizing some atrocious code only to have your brain whisper, "Wait... that variable naming convention looks suspiciously familiar..." Suddenly your righteous indignation transforms into existential dread as you realize you're not reviewing someone else's crime against programming—you're staring at your own code from three weeks ago. Nothing humbles a developer faster than becoming the archaeologist of your own terrible decisions.

The enthusiasm of typing git init versus the crushing weight of responsibility that follows is a universal constant. It's that moment when you're like "I'm gonna build the next billion-dollar app!" and then your side project stares down at you judgmentally from the rooftop of abandoned ambition for the next 3 years. The folder sits there, taking up 12KB of disk space and 600GB of guilt.

The ultimate developer escape hatch has arrived! Some genius created a GitHub repo called "git-blame-someone-else" with 11k stars and counting. It's basically the digital equivalent of writing "not my fault" in your commit messages, but automated. The repo description says it all: "Blame someone else for your bad code." Finally, a way to attribute those questionable 3 AM coding decisions to your coworkers! The MIT license is just chef's kiss—legally allowing you to distribute your blame. Who needs accountability when you have this repo? Your tech debt just became somebody else's problem!