>>1 1.Cucked by employers. 2.Cucked by compilers. 3.Cucked by libraries. 4.Cucked by operating systems. 5.Cucked by standards. 6.Cucked by APIs in general. 7.Cucked by protocols. 8.Cucked by language limitations. A programmer is mentally cucked every single day. He cannot rebel against authority and he even cucks himself by imposing self-made rules and limitations on the code. Very few exceptions(Terry) exist, and their struggles only confirm that programming is mental slavery and subservience to machine ideals.
Name:
Anonymous2018-11-16 7:58
>>2 what your're are describing is a code monkey. code monkey is the last man, but programmer is ubermensch
>>3,4 The virgin programmer vs Chad Enterprise Software Architect
Name:
Joe Appcode2018-11-16 11:54
Ubermensch? I met him a few months ago. He was driving a really nice car. There was a really sweet Tsubame riding the early bus with me weekday mornings and Saturdays. Each day I gave her a Starbucks gift card out of gratitude for her being gracious to a luzer neckbeard like myself. On Saturdays we would got off the LUV Bus and transfer to the Aurora Bus. But on Ubermensch Day, the bus driver stopped the bus near the Yum-Yum Tree to walk back and read the Riot Act to some clown who had spilled his drink all over the floor of the bus. The foreign-born driver was threatening to call the Sadistic Police Department. Tsubame-wa, sitting next to me, got worried about missing her downtown connection to get to work on time. She went up and tried to talk to the driver about starting up the bus again, but he was on the radio to the SPD and would not speak with her. So she and I deboarded the bus in her hissy fit. I said I would catch the next E-Line, but Solovyeyka told me, "You can Uber with me," and that's how I met the Ubermensch. I had never Ubered before. Tsubame-wa Solovyeyka-San is from a foreign country and she had to ask me where we were, to tell the Uber App. "We're at 60th and Yum-Yumville," I responded. A couple minutes later, I tried to guide Miss Yum-Yum away from an encroaching car, but it was the Uber Voiture. She slid in and made room for me. From my nerd-pocket I pulled out my wad of cash and reached for a $10-bill, but Yum-Yum said, "That's too much." So I counter-offered, "How about if I pay half? What will be the cost?" Yum-Yum estimated, "Fourteen dollars," so I gave her seven. The driver had an accent, so I asked him what country he was from. "Egypt," he said, and he looked like a middle-aged doctor who had to give up his medical practice and drive for Uber in the Emerald City. I said, "If you're from Egypt, then you speak Arabic. I know one word in Arabic -- halib -- which means milk." Then Yum-Yum put me to shame by knowing twice as much Arabic as I do, both "hello" and "good-bye" in Arabic. The driver let me off for my own bus-connection, and Yum-Yum continued to downtown. And that, dear Proggies, is how I met the Ubermensch.