Technical debt Memes

Posts tagged with Technical debt

Node Js Printing Logs

Node Js Printing Logs
You know that console.log() you threw in there to debug that one weird edge case six months ago? Yeah, it's still there. Chilling in production. Logging every single request like a chatty parrot. The brain's concern is totally valid—print statements in production are unprofessional, can leak sensitive data, and clutter your logs. But the developer's casual "I'll remove it next release" is the tech equivalent of "I'll start going to the gym next Monday." Spoiler: they won't. Then comes the plot twist: "It's javascript." And suddenly all bets are off. The brain just accepts defeat because in the Node.js ecosystem, console.log() is practically a feature at this point. Half the npm packages you're using probably have forgotten console.logs scattered throughout their codebases. Your production logs are basically a archaeological dig site of debugging statements from 2018. The real tragedy? That print statement will outlive the developer's tenure at the company.

It Works That's Enough

It Works That's Enough
You know that feeling when you've got a function that somehow works despite violating every principle of clean code, defying all logic, and looking like it was assembled by a drunk architect? Yeah, that's this balcony. It serves its purpose—technically—but nobody understands how or why, and the structural integrity is... questionable at best. The best part? You're too terrified to refactor it because the moment you touch that one line, the entire application might collapse. So you just leave it there, add a comment like "// DO NOT TOUCH - it works, idk why", and slowly back away. Ship it to production and pray the next developer doesn't ask questions. Legacy code in its purest form—functional, horrifying, and absolutely untouchable.

Are You Really Going To Ever Change Your Database

Are You Really Going To Ever Change Your Database
So you're building your app and you're like "I'll use an ORM for database abstraction so I can switch databases later!" Sure, Jan. Sure you will. The brutal truth? Both the galaxy-brain geniuses writing raw SQL and the smooth-brain rebels who also write raw SQL have figured out what the ORM evangelists refuse to admit: you're NEVER switching databases . That Postgres instance you spun up on day one? That's your ride-or-die until the heat death of the universe. Meanwhile, the "average" developers are stuck in the middle with their ORMs, adding layers of abstraction for a migration that'll never happen, debugging cryptic ORM-generated queries, and pretending they're writing "portable" code. Spoiler alert: the only thing you're porting is technical debt. The real power move? Just admit you're married to your database and write those beautiful, optimized raw queries without shame. Your future self will thank you when you're not deciphering what monstrosity your ORM generated at 3 AM.

Solo Game Dev Things

Solo Game Dev Things
When you're a solo game dev, you're simultaneously the architect, the implementer, and the future maintainer of your own codebase. The real plot twist? All three versions of you are pointing fingers at each other for that spaghetti code disaster. Current you is trying to add a new feature and wondering why the physics system is held together with duct tape and prayer. Last week you thought it was a clever optimization. Last year you... well, last year you clearly had no idea what you were doing but somehow it shipped. The beautiful tragedy of solo development: there's nobody else to blame, so you end up in a three-way Mexican standoff with your past selves. Spoiler alert—they all lose because you still have to refactor that mess.

Forgive Me Father

Forgive Me Father
We've all been there—staring at a codebase that desperately needs refactoring, but the deadline is tomorrow and you just need it to work . So you copy-paste that function for the third time, slap an O(n³) algorithm where a hash map would do, and ship it with a guilty conscience. The confessional booth awaits, but deep down you know you'll do it again next sprint. At least you're not using nested ternary operators... yet.

Look At This Junk!

Look At This Junk!
You know that feeling when you revisit your old code and suddenly wonder if you were drunk, sleep-deprived, or just fundamentally broken as a human being? Two months is that perfect sweet spot where the code is old enough to be incomprehensible, but recent enough that you can't blame a different version of yourself. The horror sets in when you realize there are no comments, variable names like x2 and temp_final_ACTUAL , and a function that's somehow 400 lines long. You start questioning your career choices, your education, and whether that CS degree was worth anything at all. The real kicker? It works perfectly in production. You're terrified to touch it because you have absolutely no idea how or why it functions. It's like archaeological code—best left buried and undisturbed.

Justified

Justified
Ah yes, the ancient art of waterboarding someone for suggesting best practices. Your team watches in silent approval as you're stretched on the rack for daring to propose that maybe, just maybe , spending a sprint on documentation and unit tests could prevent the production fires that happen every other Tuesday. The irony? Six months later when the codebase is an undocumented dumpster fire and nobody knows what anything does, they'll be asking "why didn't we write tests?" while you're still recovering from the torture chamber. But sure, let's ship that feature with zero coverage and comments that say "//TODO: fix this later" because technical debt is just a myth invented by people who hate fun, right? At least the medieval executioners had the decency to make it quick. Your team prefers the slow death of watching you maintain their spaghetti code alone.

Unit Tests For World Peace

Unit Tests For World Peace
Production is literally engulfed in flames, users are screaming, the database is melting, and someone in the corner casually suggests "we should write more unit tests" like that's gonna resurrect the burning infrastructure. Classic developer optimism right there. Sure, Karen from QA, let's write unit tests while the entire system is returning 500s faster than a caffeinated API. Unit tests are great for preventing fires, but once the building is already ablaze, maybe we should focus on the fire extinguisher first? Just a thought. The beautiful irony here is that unit tests are supposed to catch problems before they reach production. It's like suggesting someone should've worn sunscreen while they're actively getting third-degree burns. Technically correct, but the timing needs work.

Choose Your Drug

Choose Your Drug
Pick your poison: the light dose of "Trust Me Bro" with 300 API tokens, or go full nuclear with Codex FORTE's 600 tokens of "It Works On My Computer" energy. Both come with the same delightful side effects—technical debt that'll haunt your dreams, security holes big enough to drive a truck through, code so unmaintainable your future self will curse your name, and the cherry on top: unemployment. The pharmaceutical parody nails that feeling when you're shipping code on blind faith versus slightly more blind faith with double the confidence. Either way, you're playing Russian roulette with production, but hey, at least the FORTE version has twice the tokens to generate twice the problems. The best part? Neither option includes "actually tested and documented" as an ingredient.

Never Say Never

Never Say Never
You know that monstrosity you wrote years ago? The one that makes you physically recoil when you see it in the codebase? Yeah, that 1,200-line behemoth with nested if-else statements so deep you need a map and a flashlight to navigate them. You promised yourself you'd refactor it "someday" and then conveniently forgot it existed. Fast forward to today: a critical bug appears, or worse, a "simple" feature request that touches that exact function. Now you're stuck wrestling with your past self's crimes against clean code. The best part? You can't even blame anyone else because git blame points straight at you. Nothing quite captures that special blend of regret, horror, and resignation like having to debug your own spaghetti code from 2019.

Fixed The Warnings

Fixed The Warnings
Junior dev proudly announces they "fixed all compiler warnings today" and the senior dev's response is just *chef's kiss* levels of unenthusiastic approval. That "I don't care, but... yay" perfectly captures the energy of someone who's seen too many juniors suppress warnings instead of actually fixing them, or worse, just slap @SuppressWarnings on everything like it's hot sauce. Because let's be real—"fixed" could mean anything from actually refactoring deprecated code to just adding // @ts-ignore comments everywhere. The senior dev has been burned before and knows that "fixed warnings" often translates to "created technical debt I'll have to deal with in 6 months." But hey, at least the build log is cleaner now, right? Right?

First Place But At What Cost

First Place But At What Cost
You know you've entered dangerous territory when winning a programming competition feels like a Pyrrhic victory. Sure, you got first place and bragging rights, but your code is so horrifically cursed that even Boromir—who literally tried to steal the Ring—would've placed higher on the morality scale. Maybe it's held together with duct tape and prayer, riddled with global variables, or has a time complexity that makes O(n!) look efficient. Either way, you won, but your soul (and your codebase) paid the price. Sometimes the real competition is between you and your conscience.