The Sacred Unspoken Questions

Remember when everyone used "master" before the great renaming to "main"? Yeah, those legacy repos are still out there, lurking in production like ancient artifacts. You're working on your feature branch, everything's modern and clean, then someone asks you to check something on master and suddenly you're transported back to 2019. The branch still works perfectly fine, but saying "git checkout master" feels like you're about to get cancelled by your CI/CD pipeline. It's like finding a working floppy disk drive in 2024—technically functional, but you feel weird using it.

When you're vibing with terrible code quality, writing nested callbacks six levels deep, zero error handling, and variable names like "x1" and "temp2"... and suddenly your commit counter hits 3251. Nothing says "professional software engineer" quite like watching your crime against computer science get immortalized in git history. The code may be garbage, but hey, at least you're consistently producing garbage. That's what they call velocity in Agile, right?

The graph that exposes our dirty little secret. Nothing says "I trust this code completely" like scrolling at Mach 10 through a 10,000-line PR while muttering "yeah, seems fine" under your breath. The curve shoots up exponentially because we all know the unspoken rule: the longer the PR, the less anyone actually reads it. By line 5,000, you're basically just admiring how pretty the syntax highlighting looks while hitting that approve button. For bonus points, drop an "LGTM" comment to prove you definitely, absolutely, 100% read every single line. Trust me, your future self debugging production at 3 AM will be so grateful.

OH. MY. GOD. The absolute CARNAGE of code reviews! 💀 Four people MERCILESSLY beating the life out of the fifth with their "suggestions" and "best practices." Meanwhile, that poor developer is just CRAWLING on the ground, begging for mercy after submitting what they thought was perfectly acceptable code! The psychological TRAUMA of seeing your precious if-else statements get absolutely DEMOLISHED by Karen from backend who just HAS to point out that you could've used a switch statement instead. THE HORROR!

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!

You know a README was AI-generated when it looks like a unicorn threw up emojis all over your documentation. Every section has 🚀, every feature gets a ✨, and there's always that suspicious 📦 next to "Installation". But here's the thing—you can't actually prove it wasn't written by some overly enthusiastic developer who just discovered emoji shortcuts. Maybe they really are that excited about their npm package. Maybe they genuinely believe the rocket emoji adds 30% more performance. The plausible deniability is chef's kiss.