When You Only Know HTML

Developer smugly declares "it runs fine on my browser" while sharing a localhost URL that only works on their machine. The tester asks for the link, gets http://localhost/test2 , and the QA team proceeds to strangle the developer for their networking sins. Classic case of "works on my machine" syndrome - the developer equivalent of "the check's in the mail."

The eternal struggle of every developer who's ever been in a sales meeting. That spinning wheel of doom in your brain when the sales team proudly announces they've promised a client a feature that exists only in their imagination. Meanwhile, you're mentally calculating how many all-nighters and caffeine-fueled coding sessions it'll take to manifest this fantasy into reality before the "reasonable deadline" they've also promised. Nothing like building the airplane while it's already carrying passengers!

Imagine RAM getting so scarce and pricey that devs actually have to *gasp* optimize their code and think about memory management. No more spinning up 47 Chrome tabs with 8GB each. No more Electron apps eating RAM like it's an all-you-can-eat buffet. Suddenly everyone's writing efficient code, profiling memory leaks, and actually caring about performance. The idea that a hardware shortage could force an entire generation of developers to rediscover what "resource constraints" means is so absurdly dystopian yet plausible that it might actually restore faith in divine intervention. Because let's be real—nothing short of a biblical RAM apocalypse is getting modern devs to stop treating memory like it's infinite.

The handshake of deception! Both AI artists and "vibe coders" have found their career shortcut—let the machines do the heavy lifting while you collect the praise. For the uninitiated, "vibe coders" are those developers who spend more time curating their aesthetic GitHub profiles and tweaking VS Code themes than writing actual code. They're the ones who post snippets they didn't write and drop terms like "neural architecture" in casual conversation despite just copy-pasting from ChatGPT. The modern tech equivalent of putting your name on the group project after contributing absolutely nothing. But hey, fake it till you make it, right? Just don't ask them to whiteboard anything without internet access.

You wanted to add ONE tiny package to handle date formatting, and now your node_modules folder has somehow become sentient and is demanding its own ZIP code. The JavaScript ecosystem really said "you can't just install what you need" and decided that every package must bring its entire extended family, second cousins, and that one weird uncle nobody talks about to the party. The best part? It audited 2,370 packages in 32 minutes and 4 seconds like it's doing you a favor, when all you wanted was to format a timestamp. Meanwhile your disk space is sobbing in the corner and your .gitignore is working overtime. The node_modules folder is basically the Costco of programming—you came for one thing, you're leaving with 2,349 things you didn't know existed.

The punchline hits harder than a 500 server error. Someone names their bin chute spider "Henry" - harmless enough. But then comes the revelation: "he's a web developer." Just your typical developer humor - naming spiders after their natural profession. The spider probably writes cleaner code than most of us and never complains about legacy systems. Bet Henry specializes in crawling and doesn't even need Stack Overflow for help.