Doom 1993 Benchmark

The annual summer ritual of developer suffering has begun. First panel: you're coding next to your PC that's running hotter than Satan's kitchen, fans screaming for mercy. Second panel: you open a window hoping for relief, but instead invite nature's most annoying debuggers. Third panel: moths, attracted to your screen like QA is to that one edge case you forgot to handle, turn your home office into a rainbow rave party. And you thought memory leaks were your biggest problem today.

When your friend asks what CPU you have but you've been living in fantasy land since you "overclocked" it. Nothing says "I'm a hardware genius" like naming your own fictional processor the "Ultra rizzler edition" running at 9.5GHz while your actual base clock is a modest 3.5GHz. That's not overclocking—that's over- lying . Next thing you'll tell me is your RGB lighting adds 10 teraflops of computing power.

Ah yes, the prehistoric era of computing. Before 1956, programmers were just cavemen banging on two keys: 0 and 1. Need to compile your code? Just smash ENTER. Need a variable? That's what SPACE is for. Who needs fancy high-level languages when you can communicate directly with the machine using only existential dread and finger calluses? The most efficient debugging technique was just repeatedly hitting your head on the keyboard until something worked.

Turns out ChatGPT can't actually put on a hard hat and operate a crane. Who knew? Construction workers watching tech bros panic about AI replacing jobs are just sipping coffee and waiting for someone to fix the actual physical world when it breaks. Sure, AI can write your for-loops, but try asking it to install plumbing that doesn't flood your server room. Some jobs require calluses that silicon can't grow.

THE ULTIMATE BETRAYAL! 💔 Imagine thinking you're safe with your gaming setup when suddenly your "mom" knows EXACTLY what GPU you're rocking! The horror! The Terminator isn't just hunting John Connor—he's hunting kids with clueless parents who can't tell an RTX from a toaster! That moment when your AI overlord exposes your foster parents as tech-savvy imposters because NO REAL PARENT knows what an RX 9070 XT is without being a literal killing machine from the future. Peak silicon-based betrayal right there!

Storage space? No problem. 1TB? Plenty. But 43GB of RAM? That's where the smile fades. The meme perfectly captures that moment when you find a cool AI model (deepseek-1:70b) that could run locally, but then reality hits—your machine needs more RAM than most data centers. It's like being told you can have a Ferrari, but only if you can fit it in your studio apartment. The five stages of AI grief: excitement, hope, realization, despair, and finally acceptance that cloud computing exists for a reason.