Pull request Memes

When your PR shows "-9,953" lines of code and your manager gives you a thumbs up. Nothing says "senior developer" like knowing what code not to write. The most efficient code is the code that doesn't exist. Somewhere a project manager is frantically updating their burndown chart while wondering how to report "negative progress" to stakeholders.

That moment when your coworker submits a pull request with 10,000 lines of code and you just approve it without even looking at it. "LGTM" (Looks Good To Me) is the digital equivalent of "yeah whatever, ship it" while leaning back in your chair with zero accountability. The best part? You'll be on vacation when it inevitably breaks production next week.

That innocent smile when you submit a PR at 4:59pm thinking it'll be merged before EOD. Meanwhile, the reviewer is holding all the +4 cards ready to hit you with "needs more tests," "fix formatting," "add comments," and the classic "why did you implement it this way?" Your weekend plans just got UNO'd.

The eternal developer insecurity captured in one GitHub diff stat. Adding nearly 5,000 lines while removing 1,144 and still wondering if your PR is substantial enough. Meanwhile, your code reviewer is silently praying you didn't just paste an entire npm package into the codebase. The green bars say "impressive contribution" but your brain says "what if it's mostly comments and whitespace?" Classic impostor syndrome with a side of version control anxiety.

Ah, the classic "one-line commit to fame" pipeline! Nothing says "senior developer material" like fixing a typo in the README and immediately updating your LinkedIn with "Core Contributor at Major FOSS Project." The best part? That single docs update probably took 3 hours of fighting with the project's arcane contribution guidelines, two rejected PRs, and a heated discussion about Oxford commas in the issue tracker. But hey, that GitHub green square is worth its weight in gold during job interviews!

When your junior dev creates a pull request without running tests, fixing linting errors, or even reviewing their own code. Just smashes that green button and expects everyone else to clean up the mess. And the worst part? We've all been that dev at some point. Nothing says "not my problem anymore" like a hastily created PR with the commit message "fix stuff".

That feeling when your pull request finally gets approved after 47 code reviews, 18 requested changes, and 3 weeks of waiting... You're not just a developer anymore—you're royalty . Sitting on that throne of merged code, looking slightly uncomfortable because deep down you know your hastily added console.log() statements are still in there. The kingdom is yours until QA finds that edge case you totally forgot to test.

OH. MY. GOD. The junior just pushed a commit that's basically a NUCLEAR APOCALYPSE of code! 💀 +14,254 lines added in glorious green, -13,967 lines deleted in terrifying red. This isn't a commit, it's a COMPLETE REWRITE OF THE UNIVERSE! Senior devs are probably having collective heart attacks right now while frantically reaching for their blood pressure medication. The code review meeting is going to need trauma counselors on standby. What happened here? Did they accidentally paste the entire internet into our codebase? Did they decide to solve every bug by just... deleting everything and starting over? The git history will never emotionally recover from this tragedy!