Best practices Memes

Left side: "My code is self-documenting!!" with a sketch of someone looking distressed at the lowest end of the IQ bell curve. Middle: Actual documentation with detailed comments about monster attack algorithms in a game. Right side: Someone who just writes "// this is bridge" next to a drawing of a bridge, sitting at the other low end of the IQ curve. The perfect balance? The 130+ IQ person with comprehensive, helpful comments that actually explain the why behind complex game logic. The eternal developer struggle: write no comments and claim "self-documenting code," write useless comments stating the obvious, or be the rare specimen who documents the intent and reasoning. Most of us oscillate between all three depending on how much coffee we've had.

Look at me ignoring that README file like it's my ex's text messages. We've all been there—excitedly diving into a shiny new library, completely bypassing the documentation because "how hard could it be?" Then two hours later, after fighting bizarre errors and contemplating a career change to goat farming, we're crawling back to that README with our tail between our legs. The documentation was there the whole time, patiently waiting for us to admit we're not as clever as we thought. It's the programming circle of life.

Writing code with zero documentation is like putting your future self in a chokehold with a dirty boot. Sure, it feels fast and efficient now—why waste time on tests and comments when you could be "shipping features"? Fast forward six months and there you are, staring at your own cryptic spaghetti code like it's written in hieroglyphics. The boot of regret slowly crushing your soul as you whisper, "Who wrote this garbage? Oh wait... it was me." That's karma in its purest form.