There are many ways of dividing programmers into two groups and one of those ways is to put all of the honest programmers in one group and all of the dishonest programmers into the second group. An honest programmer is willing to admit the limits of his or her knowledge (OK, so I should have typed “his” because we know there are few female programmers, not because women are incapable of being programmers, but because the programming profession is dominated by immature macho attitudes created by the likes of our hero, Íþtard, and women don't like to be surrounded by such social retards). Íþtard is a member of the second group. Íþtard knows everything. He knows things he never heard of before. He knows things that he doesn't even understand. If there is a thing, Íþtard knows it. If someone describes something to Íþtard, something Íþtard does not understand, Íþtard glows with confidence and projects an assured mien, because Íþtard knows it. Íþtard needs you to believe he knows it. He needs you to absolutely believe he knows it, because if you believe he knows it, you won't ask him any questions to verify that he knows it because, if you did, that would be awkward, since he doesn't know it at all. His need that you believe that he knows it is so great he, himself, believes he knows it. There is nothing Íþtard does not know.
Nevertheless, this causes Íþtard to be Mr. Obvious. When Íþtard actually does know something, he behaves as if no one else knows it, and then attempts to demonstrate to others that he, Íþtard, knows this thing that everyone else knows but Íþtard thinks no one knows. While this may seem to be self defeating, it is not. Well, at least at TravTech it is an advantage, and here is why. On the other hand, I could explain why, but no one likes being lectured to and this discourse on Íþtard is getting too long winded, so let's get on with our story.
TravTech has a CEO, let's call him T-Rex and TravTech has a Director of Development, like most software development corporations, let's call him Jack Off. Íþtard, therefore, has a boss. Íþtard's bosses are not bright. You could say that when The Flying Spaghetti Monster was giving out meatballs, the CEO and Development Director ended up with the vegan dish. They each were two balls short of a platter. While Íþtard had just one ball, his bosses had no balls at all. It was easy to deceive the two dunces above him. What they could not understand, they could believe, provided it was said with confidence and the projection of confidence was Íþtard's forte.
And so our scene opens... The CEO's door is open and the director is sitting in the room so Íþtard begins to explain to everyone what a loop is. I know, you're thinking, “Duh, everyone knows what a fucking loop is in programming!” You are right. Everyone knows, but when Íþtard explains it, he explains it like he had an epiphany, and with that tone of confidence colored with a vacuous aire of insight, it sounds down right impressive to two men without balls. The rest of the crew are sitting there releasing a chorus of mentally perceptual “Duhs”, but no one says a word because it's a small cramped room and the dunces without balls just might not know what a loop is after all.
Íþtard walks up to the white board, and writes:
while (condition) {
statement;
...
}
And then says, “This is a loop.... blah blah blah blah blah blah................. blah blah blah bah..........” Someone shakes his leg and the floor vibrates like a small earthquake. “Blah blah blah....” No one is actually listening. “Blah blah blah....”
This goes on and on. Íþtard feels good about himself. Finally he sits down. People get back to work. Jack Off, his boss, is impressed. Íþtard just might be manager material.
.... to be continued ...
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