Me Asking My Parents For A New PC

First we had "Jesus has risen" for Easter. Now we have "Jesus has RYZEN" because apparently the son of God upgraded to AMD processors. The divine computing power to run the universe's simulation requires nothing less than a high-end CPU. Bet heaven's render farm makes your gaming rig look like a pocket calculator. And you thought your server resurrection after a crash was impressive.

That moment when your RAM sticks don't slide in with that satisfying click on the first attempt, and suddenly you're King Théoden preparing for the Battle of Helm's Deep. The ritual begins: wiggling the stick, checking alignment, blowing on the contacts like it's a 90s Nintendo cartridge, and finally using enough force that you're convinced you're about to snap your $200 memory in half. Every PC builder knows this special kind of anxiety—where a simple component installation transforms into an epic saga worthy of Middle-earth.

The AUDACITY of the universe to dangle my exact mouse model in front of me at 44¢! After I made a BLOOD OATH against Logitech for their unrepairable gadgets! It's like the golden idol from Indiana Jones, but instead of triggering booby traps, it'll trigger my wallet to open despite my dramatic vows of hardware celibacy. The self-control required here is SUPERHUMAN. That shiny mouse is whispering sweet nothings like "I'm practically free" while my trauma screams "BUT FOR HOW LONG BEFORE I BREAK?!"

Ah yes, the dark ages of computing. Before FORTRAN showed up in 1956, programmers were just keyboard warriors in the most literal sense - manually toggling 0s and 1s like prehistoric savages. Nothing says "I'm having a productive day at work" like frantically flipping physical switches for eight hours straight while your coworkers wonder if you're having a seizure or actually programming something. The best part? Debugging meant checking if your finger slipped on switch #4,271. Good times.

Crawling through the desert of GPU prices while NVIDIA laughs all the way to the bank. The RTX 5090 costs a kidney and your firstborn at $3000, but somehow we still convince ourselves it's worth it for those extra 5 FPS in Minecraft. Meanwhile, the perfectly capable RX 9070 XT sits there at $850 like the reasonable choice nobody wants to make. Because nothing says "responsible adult" like eating ramen for six months to render ray-traced reflections in puddles slightly better.

The endless cycle of mod addiction strikes again! Your poor computer is basically begging for mercy like an overworked employee on their 12th straight hour. "Just one more mod" is the programmer equivalent of "just one more line of code before bed" – a dangerous lie we tell ourselves right before everything crashes spectacularly. Your PC's cooling fans are probably screaming louder than a junior dev who just pushed to production without testing.