Bus Vandal Hates Front End

The five stages of beginner developer delusion, perfectly captured in skeletal form. It starts with innocent enthusiasm, quickly escalates to "I'm learning React to learn JavaScript" (which is like saying "I'm learning to fly a Boeing 747 to understand gravity"), then rapidly descends into the fever dream of building Netflix clones with ChatGPT after 72 hours of coding. By stage four, our protagonist is planning an AI SaaS empire after a week of copy-pasting Stack Overflow answers. The final transformation into a complete skeleton represents the ultimate delusion: dropping engineering college for a bootcamp that "guarantees" job offers. Senior developers watching this evolution: *sips coffee in traumatized silence*

Behold, the modern tech tragedy in three acts: Act I: "I'll let GPT-5 refactor our entire codebase!" Act II: *50+ files changed, 10k+ lines updated, beautiful modular code with best practices* Act III: "None of it works." The perfect illustration of AI's current relationship with coding: makes everything look incredible while secretly plotting your application's demise. That beautiful, clean code is like a gorgeous sports car with no engine—pretty to look at but utterly useless for actually getting anywhere. The punchline "But boy it was beautiful to watch" is the developer equivalent of "The surgery was successful, but the patient died." At least we'll have nicely formatted code to stare at while the production server burns!

That fresh-faced "vibe coder" posing next to the tombstone of the company that hired them is just *chef's kiss* perfect. Nothing says "I'm ready to disrupt this industry" like taking selfies at the funeral of your employer's business model. Tech companies keep hiring these trendy devs who know more about aesthetic IDEs than actual algorithms, then wonder why their codebase looks like a Pinterest board that somehow runs on AWS. The burial is just a formality at this point.

You know that feeling when you spend weeks crafting the "perfect" UI with three neatly separated components, only for users to completely break your design philosophy by sprawling across it like they own the place? That's frontend development in a nutshell. We build elegant cat food bowls, and users turn them into bizarre cat beds. No matter how many hours you spend on your wireframes, users will find the most chaotic way possible to interact with your creation. And then management wonders why the sprint's running behind. "Just make it more intuitive," they say. Sure, let me just predict how three different species of cat will decide to sleep on it first.

Nothing says "career pivot" quite like going from prison to React developer. The conversation starts innocently with someone worrying their 44-year-old brain can't handle learning React by 50, and ends with the most extreme backstory reveal in tech forum history. This is basically the dark universe version of those LinkedIn posts where people brag about learning to code after switching careers. "From convicted felon to frontend developer - anything is possible with determination and a good IDE!" And they say the tech interview process is brutal. At least no one's asking about your axe-murdering skills anymore.

The classic development dilemma captured in architectural form! What we're seeing is a housing complex with perfectly constructed facades but completely empty in the middle—just like when your beautiful UI is ready to go but has absolutely nothing to connect to. This is the software equivalent of building a Ferrari body with no engine. Those gorgeous buttons? They do nothing. That slick animation? Connects to a void. Your pixel-perfect dropdown menu? It's just dropping down into the abyss. Every full-stack developer has felt this pain—frantically building APIs while the design team proudly shows off the shiny interface that's supposedly "ready for integration." Meanwhile, the data models are still sketches on a whiteboard somewhere.