Why Is Git Not Enough Anymore

You start with a simple task: "Just change these two lines." Seems harmless, right? Then you hit save and suddenly your IDE explodes with notifications. 20 files changed. 73 insertions. 272 deletions. Your stomach drops faster than production servers during a demo. That "LLM" at the bottom isn't referring to large language models—it's the sound of your soul leaving your body. And now you get to spend the rest of your day figuring out which dependency you just nuked because someone thought tight coupling was a great architectural pattern. Welcome to software development, where "just a small fix" is the biggest lie since "the code is self-documenting."

When your commit history is less about productivity and more about spelling profanities with green squares. Nothing says "senior developer" like meticulously planning commits to spell "SEND NUDES" across your GitHub profile. Probably took more effort than the actual code it represents.

OH MY GOD, the AUDACITY of junior devs who write such catastrophic code that it summons the ancient one from their cave! 💀 Your pull request is so spectacularly broken that the senior dev—who was PERFECTLY CONTENT ignoring your existence—now has to descend from Mount Olympus to fix your disaster. Congratulations! You've created such a magnificent dumpster fire that even the mythical being who hasn't looked at production code in 3 years has to put down their coffee and save humanity from your keyboard crimes!

The D&D alignment chart for Git branch naming conventions is painfully accurate. Your team's choice reveals everything about your codebase's true nature. Calling it "main" means you follow best practices and probably have documentation. "Stable" folks are pragmatic but boring. Meanwhile, "rolling" users are one failed test away from disaster but somehow it always works. The chaotic evil "mommy" branch? That's the team that also has a "daddy" branch for hotfixes and wonders why HR keeps calling them.

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.

The bell curve of git commit sanity. On the left, the blissfully ignorant junior dev who squashes multiple feature changes into a single commit. On the right, the battle-hardened senior who does the same because life's too short. And in the middle? The poor mid-level developer meticulously separating each feature into its own commit, following best practices that nobody actually reads in the git log. The sweet irony of development—you either die a hero or live long enough to stop caring about commit granularity.