My Life According To My Manager

Behold, the ultimate tech wizard in their natural habitat. Nothing says "I possess godlike powers" quite like unplugging a router for 10 seconds and magically restoring internet connectivity. The smug satisfaction is palpable—wielding that vintage computer like a trophy while basking in unearned technical glory. The mullet and sunglasses indoors are just bonus credentials on this hacker's resume. Next step: telling everyone you "reconfigured the network infrastructure" when all you did was turn it off and on again.

Chrome Incognito: "Isn't the internet wonderful!" *sips colorful cocktail in Hawaiian shirt* Tor Browser: "I have seen horrible things" *clutches bottle, traumatized in trench coat* The actual dark web user: *thousand-yard stare of someone who's ventured into digital places where even system admins fear to tread* It's like comparing someone who thinks using private browsing to watch YouTube without recommendations is "hacking" versus the person who knows exactly which ports your firewall has left open since 2017.

45 billion hack attempts a day? That's what happens when your password is "Password123" and your security question is "What's your favorite bank?" The funniest part is some poor security engineer at JPMorgan is probably looking at these stats thinking, "Hmm, only 45 billion? Must be a slow Tuesday." Meanwhile, their firewall is screaming in binary and their server room sounds like a jet engine. Banking security is just a high-stakes game of whack-a-mole where the moles have advanced degrees in computer science.

That moment when you realize your "no logs" VPN is actually Ned Flanders in a trench coat peeking through your browser history. VPN providers love to advertise their "zero logs" policy while simultaneously watching everything you do like an overly attached ex. It's the digital equivalent of someone promising they're not listening to your conversation while wearing noise-canceling headphones backward. Trust in the cybersecurity world is about as reliable as a chocolate teapot in a sauna.

That torn piece of paper with handwritten IP addresses and login credentials is the true legacy system of every IT department. When your entire infrastructure depends on that one scrap that's been through coffee spills, desk moves, and now mouse erosion. The paper has reached its EOL before the systems it documents! The final stage of DevOps maturity: replacing your paper mousepad with actual documentation before it physically disintegrates beneath your RGB gaming mouse.

OH. MY. GOD. The bathroom saga of HTTP status codes is the DRAMA I never knew I needed! 💀 From the mundane 301 redirect (gotta pee somewhere else) to the catastrophic 500 internal server error (TENTACLE MONSTER IN THE TOILET?!), this is basically the restroom version of a horror film! And the 401 is MISSING because you need AUTHENTICATION to get in! Nobody gave you the bathroom pass, honey! Meanwhile, 402 is standing there like "Payment Required" with a velvet rope, acting like it's some exclusive club bathroom. THE AUDACITY. And don't get me started on 418 ("I'm a teapot")... like, sweetie, this is NOT the time for an identity crisis!