I'm Just A Poor Boy With Spinning Disks

So you spent three weeks learning trigonometry, diving into DDA algorithms, and debugging why your walls look like a Salvador Dalí painting, only to realize John Carmack did this in 1992 on hardware that had less computing power than your smart toaster. And he did it while probably eating pizza and writing assembly like it was a casual Tuesday. The "box of triangles" bit hits different when you realize modern game engines abstract all this pain away with their fancy rendering pipelines, but back then? Carmack was literally casting rays and doing trigonometric calculations per pixel to fake 3D in Wolfenstein 3D. No GPU acceleration, no Unity, no "just import Three.js"—just raw math and the will to make demons shootable. Meanwhile, you're here in 2024 with Stack Overflow, ChatGPT, and 64GB of RAM, still struggling to get your raycaster to not crash when you look at a corner. Humbling stuff.

Remember when we actually needed DxDiag? That little Windows diagnostic tool was our sacred ritual before installing a new game. "Can I run Crysis?" wasn't a meme—it was a genuine existential crisis that required consulting the oracle of DirectX Diagnostics. These days, kids just download whatever 200GB monstrosity Steam is featuring without a second thought. Meanwhile, I still instinctively reach for Win+R and type "dxdiag" whenever something doesn't run right—like checking the oil in a Tesla.

The legendary Gabe Cube—Valve's unreleased hardware that shows Gabe Newell's facial expressions based on your code quality. Smiling face when your code is optimized, horrified face when you try to implement Half-Life 3. The USB ports at the bottom are for plugging in your tears when Steam rejects your game for the 17th time. Rumor has it the cube crashes if you say "3" three times in your codebase.

So your AI girlfriend comes in two flavors: the polished, user-friendly interface that normies see, and the glorious exploded view of GPUs, cooling systems, circuit boards, and enough hardware to power a small data center. One's optimized for emotional support, the other's optimized for thermal throttling. Programmers naturally prefer the stripped-down version because we know what's really going on under the hood. Who needs small talk when you can admire the raw computational power, the architecture, the sheer engineering beauty of stacked processors working overtime to generate "I miss you too 🥺"? Romance is temporary, but a well-cooled GPU cluster is forever. Plus, the right side is honest. No pretense, no illusions—just pure silicon and electricity pretending to care about your day. That's the kind of transparency we can respect.

Borderlands devs absolutely demolishing gamers with month-old rigs is peak tech hierarchy. The gaming industry's entire business model relies on making your $2000 setup obsolete faster than milk expires. You'll be running that shiny new game at 12 FPS while the recommended specs casually suggest "just a quantum computer with direct neural interface." Meanwhile, game optimization remains an ancient forgotten art, like proper documentation or reasonable deadlines.

The moment you get that computer science degree, everyone suddenly thinks you're the designated IT support person for the entire extended family. Nothing says "I've made it as an engineer" quite like being handed a printer that hasn't worked since Windows XP and being told "you can fix this, right?" The girlfriend bringing home a friend's printer is the final boss of unpaid tech support. Six years of algorithms and data structures for this glorious moment.