documentation Memes

Mozilla drops a non-binary mascot named "Kit" that uses they/them pronouns, and someone immediately asks the only question that matters: how do you even run a non-binary executable? Because in the world of computers, everything is literally binary - ones and zeros, true or false, executable or not. The title nails it though. Not only is this conceptually confusing for anyone who thinks in bits and bytes, but there's probably no documentation either. Just like that one critical library your entire stack depends on that has a README.md with "TODO: Write documentation" from 2019. Fun fact: In Unix systems, you can actually set file permissions to be non-executable (chmod -x), which technically makes it... non-binary in the execution sense? So maybe Kit just doesn't have execute permissions. Problem solved.

Ah yes, the mythical creature known as "writing documentation" – about as real as a unicorn, but somehow even more elusive. It's perpetually "coming soon" on your to-do list, right next to "refactor that 3000-line function" and "learn Rust this weekend." The "O RLY?" at the bottom with "Someone else" perfectly captures the reaction when someone actually asks for documentation. Like, you want me to explain what this code does? The variable names are literally data , temp , and x2 – isn't that self-documenting enough? The real kicker is that we all know documentation is important, we all complain when it's missing from libraries we use, and yet somehow our own projects remain mysteriously undocumented. Future you will definitely remember what that function does, right?

Documentation is that thing everyone preaches about like it's the holy grail of software development. "Future you will thank you!" they say. "Your team will love you!" they promise. And you know what? They're absolutely right. Good documentation prevents countless hours of confusion, onboarding nightmares, and those "what was I thinking?" moments when you revisit code from three months ago. But here's the brutal truth: sitting down to actually write it feels about as appealing as doing taxes while getting a root canal. Your brain immediately conjures up seventeen other "more important" tasks. Suddenly refactoring that random utility function seems urgent. Maybe you should reorganize your imports? Check Slack for the fifteenth time? The yoga comparison is painfully accurate. Everyone knows it's good for you. Everyone knows they should do it. Almost nobody actually wants to do it right now. The difference? At least yoga doesn't judge you with empty README files and outdated API docs.

You spend three hours building a working solution, debugging edge cases, and optimizing your algorithm. Then you remember the assignment requires a 15-page report explaining what a for-loop does and citing three academic papers about basic data structures from 1987. The code is 50 lines. The report is due tomorrow and worth 60% of the grade. The TA will skim it for exactly 45 seconds. Nothing quite matches the existential dread of realizing the actual programming was the easy part and now you have to explain why you chose bubble sort in MLA format.