Add Capsule Collider

Childhood: "I'll make the next World of Warcraft but with better graphics and cooler weapons!" Reality: Spending 6 months debugging collision detection only to have your game downloaded by your mom and that one supportive friend who gives it a 5-star review despite never making it past the loading screen. The gap between gaming fantasy and game dev reality is basically the distance between "I'm having fun" and "I'm questioning every life choice while staring at a semicolon for three hours."

The career trajectory we never planned for! First, you naively enter game development with stars in your eyes and a degree in hand. Then reality hits—80-hour weeks debugging collision detection, players complaining your water physics aren't "realistic enough," and that one producer who keeps saying "just one more feature." Before you know it, you're burnt out, staring at your IDE with the thousand-yard stare of someone who's implemented the same login screen 37 times. Finally, you reach enlightenment: reject complexity, embrace photosynthesis. Your plants don't have merge conflicts, don't need standups, and never ask "but can we make it pop more?" The ultimate escape from dependency hell is growing actual tomatoes instead of maintaining npm packages with tomato-related names.

Game devs live in a universe where physics simulations, particle effects, and complex AI pathfinding are just "Tuesday morning tasks," but adding a cosmetic item like a scarf? That's apparently where the engine decides to have an existential crisis. The contrast is beautiful—rendering a demon erupting from molten lava with real-time particle effects and collision detection is trivial, but cloth physics or character customization? Now we're talking about refactoring the entire rendering pipeline. It's the classic case of "we built this system to do one specific thing really well, and now you want to add a feature we never considered." Turns out the game's architecture was designed around demons and explosions, not fashion accessories. Welcome to game development, where complexity is completely arbitrary and nothing makes sense until you're knee-deep in the codebase.

That's just Journey's protagonist after the budget cuts hit. When your indie game funding runs out but you still need to ship something, you grab grandma's knitting project and call it "innovative character design." Half the Steam reviews will call it "a profound statement on isolation in the digital age" while the other half will complain that the hitbox is too big.

Look at that high-end Bugatti with no wheels—just like those fancy Unreal Engine 5 games that look incredible in trailers but run at 12 FPS on actual hardware. Sure, the graphics are mind-blowing, but what good is a sports car (or game engine) when it can't actually move? Six months after launch: "We're optimizing the experience with our latest 50GB patch." Meanwhile your GPU is sweating harder than a junior dev during a code review.

The left side shows all the fancy modern game development tools - Unreal Engine, Unity, powerful programming languages, and sophisticated 3D modeling software. Meanwhile, on the right side, there's just "6502 Assembly" - the programming language from the 1970s used in ancient systems like the Atari and Commodore 64. It's like comparing Olympic shooters - the one on the left has access to every cutting-edge tool in game development, while the one on the right is basically coding on a calculator with a rusty nail. And yet somehow that Assembly programmer still ships games that people actually finish playing instead of waiting for 50GB day-one patches.