I like to imagine that the Rust developers, cultists, and sycophants all get together in real life at convention center and kvetch about the non-problems they're attempting to solve, the wheels they're attempting to reinvent.
I then imagine myself driving my custom rebuilt 1970 Plymouth GTX 440 straight through the front glass windows of the convention center, with
https://a.cocaine.ninja/yuuglv.webm playing on the stereo system,
The Sussman in the passenger seat and
you in the back, swerving and drifting to a stop inches away from their round table as glass shards fly everywhere. I'd then roll down my electric window, I'd have a patch over my eye and a cigarette in my mouth, and I'd utter the words ``I don't give a fuck about your language or your community code of conduct'' before peeling out of there at full speed.