The Last .Gitignore You Will Ever Need

Remember when code reviews meant finding your coworker's spaghetti logic and passive-aggressive variable names? Now it's just you, questioning your existence while scrutinizing AI-generated code that's somehow both flawless and completely nonsensical. The modern code reviewer: frantically Googling obscure algorithms at 2 AM because you can't tell if GitHub Copilot is brilliant or hallucinating. "Is this O(log n) solution actually genius or am I being gaslit by a language model that learned to code from Stack Overflow?" Nothing grinds your gears quite like spending your precious human life debugging code written by a machine that doesn't even get tired or need coffee breaks.

The neural pathways of a developer's brain have evolved to interpret everything through code-colored glasses. When normal humans hear "Let's create a game together," they think of flirting. Meanwhile, the developer's brain short-circuits and immediately jumps to "Unity or Unreal Engine? I'll set up the Git repo tonight!" No wonder dating profiles don't have a field for preferred programming language - it would be the only thing we'd fill out properly.

Blind as a bat when reviewing your own code, but suddenly equipped with NASA-grade telescope vision when it's someone else's mess. Nothing quite like the supernatural ability to spot every single anti-pattern, security vulnerability, and poorly named variable in code you didn't write, while your own masterpiece—complete with commented-out debug statements from 2019 and that one function named temp_fix_delete_later_v4 —somehow looks flawless. The real code review superpower isn't finding bugs, it's the selective blindness we develop for our own crimes against computing.

Oh the sweet innocent joy of thinking your code is ready for production! First panel: you're all confident, "This ticket is done, git push" - what could possibly go wrong? Second panel: QA has entered the chat and suddenly your masterpiece isn't looking so masterful. But the REAL horror story? That third panel when DevOps slides into your DMs like the final boss of a roguelike game you weren't prepared to play. The three stages of developer grief: confidence, concern, and existential dread. Ship it anyway!

THE AUDACITY! Just when you're about to push that LIFE-CHANGING commit to save humanity, GitHub's rainbow unicorn of doom appears! 🦄 There you are, frantically refreshing like it'll magically fix itself, as if the unicorn will gallop away if you click hard enough. And that "contact us if the problem persists" suggestion? PLEASE! As if we're not going to try refreshing 47 more times before even CONSIDERING that option! The unicorn might as well be saying "Have you tried turning it off and on again?" while sipping tea and judging your life choices. Meanwhile, your deadline approaches and your will to live decreases with every rainbow-colored second!

The ultimate trust exercise isn't falling backward into someone's arms—it's watching a coworker create an alias that maps git to rm -rf / . For the uninitiated, this command essentially tells your computer "please delete everything, and don't ask questions." The growing horror on the guy's face perfectly captures that moment when you realize your entire filesystem is one accidental Git command away from digital oblivion. This isn't just shooting yourself in the foot—it's nuking the entire continent you're standing on and calling it a "productivity hack."