Big Tech Security Theater

Ah, the digital Wild West of the early 2000s, when Limewire turned average middle schoolers into cyber criminals. Nothing says "I'm a tech rebel" quite like downloading a single MP3 that somehow infected your family's beige Windows 98 machine with 37 different viruses. Parents spent $2000 on that computer so you could do homework, and there you were, sacrificing it to the peer-to-peer gods for a corrupted copy of "In Da Club" that was actually just Bill Clinton's voice saying "I did not have sexual relations with that woman." The family computer never stood a chance.

PostgreSQL documentation writers have clearly reached that point of database security fatigue where threats become increasingly absurd. Forget SQL injection—now it's foreign hackers stealing your embarrassing CD collection, con artists seducing your cat with your Visa card, and balaclava-wearing villains who not only drink your beer but commit the ultimate crime: improper toilet paper orientation. The escalating consequences for string concatenation are the perfect example of documentation writers who've completely lost it trying to scare developers into using parameterized queries. And honestly? It's working.

Ah, corporate security logic at its finest! Some poor soul clicks a sketchy email attachment, and suddenly management's brilliant security strategy is "if it's free, it's a threat." Imagine telling developers to uninstall Python, Vim, and 7zip because they didn't come with an invoice. Next they'll be requiring receipts for your keyboard shortcuts. The real security threat isn't free software—it's the executive who thinks obscure paid software with three users worldwide is inherently secure because it cost exactly one corporate credit card approval. Meanwhile, the hacker who sent that email is probably using those same "insecure" free tools to plan their next attack. The irony would be delicious if it weren't so painful.

Ah yes, the utopian fantasy where we don't need to spend 80% of our development time patching security vulnerabilities and implementing authentication systems. Without hackers, we'd all be building flying cars and teleportation devices instead of arguing about whether to hash passwords with bcrypt or Argon2id. The most dangerous thing in this pristine cityscape would be a null pointer exception, and even that would probably just result in a polite error message rather than a system meltdown. Meanwhile, back in reality, I'm implementing my 17th CAPTCHA today because someone keeps trying to brute force our login page from an IP in North Korea.

Ah, the classic terminal persecution complex! Nothing says "I'm just trying to check my disk space" like opening a black screen with colorful text in public and suddenly becoming the neighborhood cyber-terrorist. The moment you fire up that bash prompt, everyone within eyesight transforms into a medieval mob ready to burn the witch. You could literally be typing ls -la to check your files, but Karen from accounting is already dialing the FBI because she's convinced you're hacking the Pentagon. Hollywood has a lot to answer for. Twenty years of hackers portrayed as hoodie-wearing villains typing at lightning speed on green-on-black screens has turned us all into suspects. Meanwhile, the real cybercriminals are probably using slick GUIs with beautiful dashboards.

Nothing says "I trust my users completely" like letting them run raw SQL queries directly against your production database. This code is basically saying "Here's the keys to my database kingdom, please don't DELETE FROM users WHERE 1=1." It's the digital equivalent of leaving your front door wide open with a sign that says "Please don't steal anything." Security teams everywhere just felt a disturbance in the force, as if millions of injection vulnerabilities suddenly cried out in terror.