Rebase Is The New Pull

The year is 2025. Microsoft has fully absorbed GitHub, and the dystopian nightmare begins. GitHub users cower in fear as Microsoft whispers "Come closer..." only to drop the bombshell: "I NEED YOU TO ADD IPV6 SUPPORT TO GITHUB." It's the ultimate plot twist! After all the fears of Microsoft injecting telemetry, ads, or subscription tiers into GitHub, they're just desperately trying to drag their acquisition into modern networking standards. Still running on legacy IPv4 in 2025? That's the real horror story! The internet ran out of IPv4 addresses years ago, but GitHub's still clinging to them like SpongeBob to his spatula.

Behold the UNHOLY ABOMINATION that is modern development! 🧟‍♂️ Up top we have the absolute CIRCUS of ingredients - Claude, ChatGPT, Gemini, random GitHub code you found at 3AM, documentation you barely skimmed, and YouTube tutorials made by someone who sounds like they're 12 but somehow knows more than your entire CS degree taught you. And what emerges from this UNGODLY FUSION? That tiny, pathetic rodent labeled "My actual code" - which you somehow stitch together into the bizarre chimera that is your "working code." Then the client shows up, looks at your creation, and has the AUDACITY to ask "What the hell is this?" as if they didn't ask for "Netflix but better" with a budget of $12 and a deadline of yesterday. THE NERVE! 💅

The ultimate developer paradox: a commit message claiming "We avoid breaking changes" while literally changing "We try to introduce breaking changes" to "We try to avoid introducing breaking changes." The irony is just *chef's kiss* – they had to fix their documentation because it accidentally admitted they were intentionally trying to break things! Nothing says "trustworthy software" like a Freudian slip in your release notes that reveals your true chaotic intentions. And they still have the audacity to link to actual breaking changes right below it! 🤦‍♂️

The evolution of a developer's brain during code reviews is truly a spectacle to behold. First, there's the primitive defensive response: "What, why?" - the intellectual equivalent of a caveman discovering fire and being terrified. Then comes the middle-evolution stage: "It's not my code, I'm just adding this feature but I'll totally refactor it later don't even worry about it" - the classic "temporary" solution that will outlive the heat death of the universe. The promise to refactor is the programming equivalent of "I'll start my diet on Monday." Finally, enlightenment: "Yeah, I know." The transcendent state where you've accepted your code is indeed garbage, but you've made peace with it. This is peak developer nirvana - when you stop fighting reality and embrace the beautiful dumpster fire you've created.

The fragile ego of developers is on full display here. We all pretend we want "constructive feedback" on our code, but the second someone suggests our beautifully crafted 300-line function might work better as five smaller ones, we're secretly dying inside. Nothing quite like spending three days on a feature only to have some senior dev casually mention "this could be a one-liner" in the PR comments. I've been on both sides of this equation for 15 years and still haven't figured out how to take criticism without mentally drafting my resignation letter.

Nothing quite like the sweet taste of revenge through code. Got rejected by your dream company? No problem—just build a free, open-source competitor that slowly eats away at their market share. They didn't want you on their team, so now you're the final boss they have to face in the marketplace. It's the ultimate developer power move: turning rejection into motivation to create something that directly competes with the people who turned you down. And the best part? You get to watch them squirm as your GitHub stars climb while their licensing fees drop. Hell hath no fury like a developer scorned.