algorithm Memes

Yes

Yes
The dictionary definition we all needed. When your PM asks how you optimized that function and you just mutter "algorithm" while avoiding eye contact. It's the technical equivalent of "I used magic" – vague enough to sound smart, specific enough to end the conversation. Bonus points if you add "proprietary" before it. Works in code reviews, client meetings, and when explaining why your solution is O(n²) but "it's fine, trust me."

I Love Pathfinding

I Love Pathfinding
When someone innocently asks why you know Romanian geography so well, and you have to explain that implementing A* pathfinding means you've traversed every possible route between Bucharest and Cluj-Napoca about 47,000 times in your test cases. The chess board with the AI textbook is chef's kiss – because nothing says "I'm a normal person" like having Russell & Norvig's brick of a book memorized while your pathfinding algorithm treats European cities like graph nodes. Sure, you could just say you like geography, but where's the fun in hiding the fact that you've optimized heuristic functions using Romanian cities as your dataset? The Traveling Salesman Problem hits different when you're actually trying to visit every Romanian city in minimum time.

Integer Underflow Risk

Integer Underflow Risk
You placed first in a coding contest, feeling like a god among mortals. But then someone else placed 0th because they exploited an integer underflow bug in the ranking system. Classic competitive programming energy right here—where winning isn't about being the best, it's about finding that one edge case the organizers forgot to validate. For the uninitiated: integer underflow happens when you subtract from the minimum value of an integer type and it wraps around to the maximum value (or in this case, goes negative and becomes 0th place). It's like going so far backward you end up ahead. Honestly, if you can hack the leaderboard, you deserve that trophy more than anyone who actually solved the problems.

Is Leap Year

Is Leap Year
Year 2000 leap year logic is the ultimate litmus test for whether someone actually understands the rules or just memorized "divisible by 4." The century rule (divisible by 100 = not a leap year, UNLESS divisible by 400 = actually a leap year) catches everyone off guard. So 2000 gets people arguing in three camps: the "divisible by 4, obviously yes" crowd, the "wait it's a century year so no" smartypants, and the rare enlightened souls who remember the 400-year exception. The bell curve nails it. Low IQ: simple rule, correct answer. Mid IQ: overthinks it with the century exception, gets it wrong. High IQ: knows the full ruleset, correct answer. It's like watching people debug datetime libraries in real-time.

Well At Least He Knows What Is BS

Well At Least He Knows What Is BS
Binary search requires a sorted array to work. A linked list? Sure, you can traverse to the middle element, but you just burned O(n) time getting there. Then you do it again. And again. Congratulations, you've just reinvented linear search with extra steps and way more complexity. The junior dev technically knows what binary search is, which is more than some can say. But applying it to a linked list is like bringing a Ferrari to a swamp—impressive knowledge, terrible execution. At least they're learning the hard way that data structures matter just as much as algorithms. Give it a few more code reviews and they'll get there.

Working On A Raycasting Engine

Working On A Raycasting Engine
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.

Bad News For AI

Bad News For AI
Google's AI Overview just confidently explained that matrix multiplication "is not a problem in P" (polynomial time), which is... hilariously wrong. Matrix multiplication is literally IN the P complexity class because it can be solved in polynomial time. The AI confused "not being in P" with "not being solvable in optimal polynomial time for all cases" or something equally nonsensical. This is like saying "driving to work is not a problem you can solve by driving" – technically uses the right words, but the logic is completely backwards. The AI hallucinated its way through computational complexity theory and served it up with the confidence of a junior dev who just discovered Big O notation yesterday. And this, folks, is why you don't trust AI to teach you computer science fundamentals. It'll gaslight you into thinking basic polynomial-time operations are unsolvable mysteries while sounding incredibly authoritative about it.

This Absolute Gem In The Mens Toilet Today At Uni

This Absolute Gem In The Mens Toilet Today At Uni
Someone taped a visual guide to urinal etiquette in a CS building bathroom and labeled it "Pigeon Hole Principle." Four urinals, three guys wearing brown shirts, one brave soul in blue who clearly drew the short straw. The Pigeonhole Principle states that if you have n items and m containers where n > m , at least one container must hold more than one item. Applied here: four urinals, but urinal etiquette demands you leave gaps, so really you've only got two usable spots. Guy in blue? He's the overflow. The mathematical proof that bathroom awkwardness is inevitable. Whoever printed this out and stuck it on the wall understands both discrete mathematics and the unspoken social contract of public restrooms. Respect.

It's Working

It's Working
Someone asked for help printing numbers 1-25 in a clockwise expanding spiral pattern. The "solution" is just five hardcoded print statements with the numbers manually typed out in rows. No loops, no algorithms, no spiral logic—just raw, unfiltered copy-paste energy. The sender confidently declares "It's working" like they just solved P=NP. Technically correct? Sure. The numbers are there. They're in some kind of pattern. Mission accomplished, right? This is the programming equivalent of being asked to build a car and showing up with a skateboard taped to a lawnmower. The person who asked for help said "thanks" which means they either didn't actually look at the code, or they've completely given up on life. Both are valid responses in this industry.

Time Complexity 101

Time Complexity 101
O(n log n) is strutting around like it owns the place—buff doge, confident, the algorithm everyone wants on their team. Meanwhile O(n²) is just... there. Weak, pathetic, ashamed of its nested loops. The truth? O(n log n) is peak performance for comparison-based sorting. Merge sort, quicksort (on average), heapsort—they're all flexing that sweet logarithmic divide-and-conquer magic. But O(n²)? That's your bubble sort at 3 AM because you forgot to optimize and the dataset just grew to 10,000 items. Good luck with that. Every junior dev writes O(n²) code at some point. Nested loops feel so natural until your API times out and you're frantically Googling "why is my code slow." Then you learn about Big O, refactor with a HashMap, and suddenly you're the buff doge too.

True But Weird 😭

True But Weird 😭
When you spot the obvious pattern (powers of 2) and write the elegant solution, but your professor apparently spent their weekend deriving a polynomial formula that looks like it escaped from a cryptography textbook. Both answers are technically correct. One takes 2 seconds to write. The other requires factoring a quartic polynomial and probably a sacrifice to the math gods. Your professor chose violence. The real kicker? They're both valid closed forms. It's like showing up to a potluck with a sandwich while someone else brought a seven-layer molecular gastronomy deconstructed sandwich experience.

Evolving Backwards

Evolving Backwards
The face of pure disappointment. Google's search algorithm used to return actual solutions from GeeksforGeeks, but now it's determined to show you AI-generated Medium articles hiding behind paywalls. It's like trading a working Swiss Army knife for a plastic spoon with "premium features." Next they'll suggest I debug production by asking my horoscope.