Romance Hits Different In Tech

When your team enforces squash-only merge policies, every single commit in your feature branch gets obliterated into one bland, generic message. All those carefully crafted commit messages documenting your thought process? Gone. That commit where you finally fixed the bug at 3 AM? Erased from history. The one where you admitted "I have no idea why this works"? Vanished. Sure, it keeps the main branch "clean," but at what cost? Your entire development journey compressed into "feat: implemented user authentication" while the git history becomes as emotionally sterile as a corporate mission statement. Roy Batty would understand—he's seen things you people wouldn't believe, just like your commit history that nobody will ever see again.

When GitHub hit its billionth repository milestone, they decided to celebrate by... *checks notes*... congratulating someone who created a repo literally named "shit". Talk about anticlimactic! It's like planning a fancy dinner party and the guest of honor shows up in pajamas. This is the programming equivalent of the billionth customer at a supermarket getting confetti and balloons while buying nothing but toilet paper. The contrast between the formal congratulatory message and the crude repo name is just *chef's kiss* perfect comedy. And GitHub's hopeful message about "building something great" just adds that extra layer of unintentional irony. Billions of repositories later and we've peaked at... this. Beautiful.

You know that moment when someone asks what you changed and you stare into the void trying to compress 47 file modifications, 3 refactors, 2 bug fixes, and that one random typo correction into a coherent sentence? Yeah, the -m flag becomes your worst enemy. The struggle is real when you've been in the zone for 2 hours, touched half the codebase, and now Git is asking you to summarize your life choices in one line. So you either write "fixed stuff" like a caveman or spend 10 minutes crafting a commit message longer than the actual code changes. Pro tip: This is why you commit early and often. But we all know you won't.

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 pot calling the kettle black has never been so ironic. Software engineers spend half their careers staring at legacy code muttering "who wrote this garbage?" before checking git blame and discovering it was themselves three months ago. The sacred ritual of cursing your predecessors' code is basically our version of a stand-up meeting - mandatory and therapeutic. Next time you're refactoring some unholy mess, remember: somewhere, an electrician is looking at your home wiring thinking the exact same thing.

Ah, the classic merge conflict in its natural habitat! When nature decides to implement its own version control system and the tree refuses to rebase. The metal grate tried to follow a nice, orderly pattern until this stubborn trunk came along with its own implementation. Now we've got this chaotic mess in the middle that nobody wants to resolve manually. Just like when Dave pushes directly to master at 4:59pm on Friday and ruins everyone's weekend. The tree's basically saying "I'm not moving my code for your architecture decisions" and honestly, I respect that level of commitment.