Looks Good To Me... I Think?

Oh. My. GOD. The eternal struggle between non-technical managers and developers summed up in four glorious panels! 😱 On the left: The developer's face of pure AGONY as they reply "LGTM" (Looks Good To Me) without actually reviewing a SINGLE LINE of code because they're drowning in their own deadlines! On the right: The blissfully ignorant non-technical person with their flower crown of innocence asking if the code looks good, then the DEVASTATING realization that the developer didn't even GLANCE at their precious creation! The betrayal! The drama! The technical debt that's about to be unleashed upon the world because NOBODY HAS TIME TO PROPERLY CODE REVIEW ANYMORE! *faints dramatically*

The ultimate plot twist in software development: running git blame only to discover your own name next to that monstrosity of nested if-statements and magic numbers. Nothing quite matches the existential crisis of realizing that the "idiot" who wrote that incomprehensible code was actually you from two months ago—back when you were "just making it work" and promising yourself you'd refactor later. Spoiler alert: you never did. Future you is judging past you, and current you is questioning your entire career choice.

OH. MY. GOD. Someone actually submitted ASCII art of a cute anime character to THE LINUX KERNEL?! 💀 The absolute AUDACITY to claim this "adds more consumerism to improve the experience" while trying to sneak a Labubu into the sacred syscall code! As if Linus Torvalds would ever merge this! The kernel - the LITERAL BEATING HEART of Linux - is now supposed to have kawaii anime art?! I can't even! Somewhere, a UNIX beard is spontaneously combusting right now. Next thing you know, we'll be replacing error messages with uwu speak and kernel panics with sad emojis!

That irrational urge to fork every major open source project hits differently at 3 AM. "Just in case GitHub disappears tomorrow" is what we tell ourselves, as if we're single-handedly preserving digital history. Meanwhile, our GitHub account becomes a digital hoarding museum with zero commits and that sweet, sweet dopamine hit of seeing 500+ repositories in our profile. It's basically the programmer equivalent of buying books you'll "definitely read someday."

Ah, the Stockholm subway map - the perfect visual metaphor for what happens when you try to merge to main after just 4 hours of Git experience. That tangled mess of colored lines intersecting in chaotic ways? That's your branch history after you've discovered git rebase , git cherry-pick , and the dreaded git push --force all in the same afternoon. Trust me, kid. We've all been there. Your repo probably looks like someone dropped spaghetti on a circuit board. Just wait until you discover merge conflicts - that's when you'll really need this map to find the nearest bar.

That moment when you're submitting your PR and frantically re-reading the contribution guidelines for the 17th time. "Did I format my commit messages correctly? Is my code style compliant? Will the maintainer publicly shame me in the comments?" Nothing quite like the cold sweat of wondering if your brilliant solution violates some obscure rule buried in paragraph 37, subsection C of the README. The code review Russian roulette begins!