Now What: The GitHub Unicorn Of Despair

The eternal game show of developer excuses! That smug cat knows exactly what we're all thinking when faced with the dreaded "it doesn't work" complaint. Each answer represents a classic defense mechanism from our collective programming trauma: A) "Somebody must have changed my code" - The ghost in the machine defense, perfect for teams with sketchy version control. B) "I haven't touched the code in weeks!" - The temporal alibi, as if code degrades like milk left in the sun. C) "It worked yesterday" - The quantum uncertainty principle of programming. Schrödinger's bug, if you will. D) "It works on my machine ¯\_(ツ)_/¯" - The final boss of developer excuses, complete with the universal shrug of technical absolution. The correct answer? All of the above, simultaneously, while quietly checking if you forgot to push that critical fix.

Treating yourself like a software project is peak developer energy. While everyone else is promising to hit the gym, this guy's posting a changelog for himself like he just pushed to production. The real joke is thinking any of those bugs will actually get fixed before next December's emergency hotfix. At least he didn't label it "various performance improvements" which we all know means "I broke something but can't figure out what."

The sweet, sweet dopamine hit of seeing "no conflicts with base branch" is better than any drug on the market. That magical green checkmark means your code won't trigger a three-hour merge nightmare where you question your career choices. Developers spend 90% of their time dreading merge conflicts and 10% celebrating when they don't happen. It's the little things in life - like when Git doesn't make you want to throw your laptop out the window.

The classic code review paradox! When you hand a dev 10 lines of code, they transform into the world's most meticulous detective—finding edge cases, style issues, and optimization opportunities that would make Sherlock Holmes proud. But somehow, drop 500 lines in their lap and suddenly they've got their rubber stamp ready: "LGTM!" (Looks Good To Me). It's like our brains short-circuit when faced with too much code. The cognitive overload kicks in and we just... give up. "Life's too short to read all this. I trust you didn't break anything in those other 490 lines!" And don't even get me started on pull requests with 5000+ lines. That's when you see the mythical "ship it" comment appear within 30 seconds of submission. Pure magic!

So your teammate just pushed a week's worth of changes to the parent branch while you've been happily rebasing your feature branch for the past eight hours. Eight. Hours. That's basically a full workday of carefully resolving conflicts, rewriting commit history, and praying to the git gods that you don't accidentally nuke something important. Now all that work? Completely obsolete. You get to do it all over again because their changes are now in the base branch, which means fresh new merge conflicts are waiting for you like a surprise birthday party you never wanted. The rage is palpable, the suffering is real, and somewhere in the distance, your teammate is probably eating lunch without a care in the world. Pro tip: Always check if anyone's about to merge before starting a marathon rebase session. Or just use merge commits like a sane person. But where's the fun in that?

The eternal dance of code reviews, beautifully captured in its natural habitat. Reviewer drops a last-minute bombshell requirement that wasn't in any spec. Developer responds with the most honest code documentation ever written—and somehow still gets those sweet, sweet approvals. The best part? It got merged anyway! Nothing says "professional software development" quite like telling your reviewer where to shove their Assembly support and then pushing to master anyway. The 8 likes are from other developers who've been there but never had the courage.