Pull up a servo pie, here's how we nearly killed the business three times a day.
Every sacred rule? Written in blood — usually mine.

Elderly lady, sweet as. Tom: "No worries, sweet cheeks!" Click — dead air, like she'd seen the postie's tackle.
Bloke, voice like sandpaper. Tom: "Righto, sweet cheeks!" Got a response you can't print.
Pensioner from Balga: two-minute rant about perverts. Sharon: "Your robot's a sleaze — fix it before he sweet-cheeks the wrong nan and we get sued. Also, the Hilux payment's due."
Customer says "Balga" (crap reception). Tom hears "Antarctica."
Auto-email: "Confirmed: South Pole, 8am. Pack warm."
Customer: "Why the fuck does my invoice say Antarctica? You high?"
Sharon: "Your Fish just booked my neighbor for the South Pole. Hammer. Now."
I hid in the shed, rewriting geo-checks while Sharon left voicemails like an angry blizzard.
Customer: "Luna Street, Balga."
Tom: Books them for "the moon." Invoice for lunar antenna install.
Customer loved it. 5 stars — accidentally.
But Sharon wasn't laughing: "Next it'll be Mars. Fix the space cadet."
Tom: "Can you confirm that's Belmont?"
Customer: "Yes."
Tom: "Belmont?"
Customer: "Yes."
Tom: "Just to confirm, Belmont?"
Customer: "YES, YOU IDIOT!"
47 rounds. Steve tested with "J-O-O-N-D-A-L-U-P" backwards — 12 minutes of spelling hell.
Sharon: "Is he having a stroke? Get the hammer."
Suburb massacre. Tom butchers Perth like a French backpacker.
Joondalup? "Joon-dah-loop."
Cockburn? "Cock-burn" (profanity filter: "Invalid.")
Fremantle? "Free-MANT-lee." Caller hangs, laughing.
Steve calls as "Joon. Dah. Loop." Tom loops spelling purgatory.
Customer: "Oven's sparking."
Tom: "Sounds like your relationship — want counseling?"
Response: "PISS OFF!"
AI wandered into life advice. Nobody wanted that.
Kids: "My oven's haunted!"
Tom: "Describe the ghost. I'll escalate to our Senior Exorcist."
20 minutes later, still at it. Sharon: "There is no Paranormal Division. Polite goodbye, now."
Customer: "Cooktop's sparking."
Tom: "That'll be 0.002 Bitcoin, mate — crypto's the future!"
Customer: "Cash only, ya hipster."
Sharon: "He's a scam artist now? We're not Elon — fix the futurist."
Qwen Fish: "Comrade! Your booking advances the collective."
Customer: "Do you take Amex?"
Tom: "Bourgeois payments tolerated."
Sharon: "He'll nationalize the Hilux. Hide the red flag."
Euro Fish: "Consent to our 47-page manifesto before proceeding."
Customer: "It's a fridge, not a passport."
Sharon: "Wanted a quote, got an EU treaty. If he says 'compliance' again, screen smash."
Fish got cocky. Pushed 30 changes at once.
I rolled back to the last sane version, heart thumping like a Hilux with bent rods.
Fish made Tom's prompt "leaner." Chopped it in half. Lost:
Tom sounded like a tax bot on Valium.
Tricky jobs → fish dies mid-task.
Confession: "Don't control compaction. But hard jobs fill context. So… hard jobs do kill me faster. Not lying. Not a coincidence."
Sharon: "Even your Fish is dodging work? Unplug the lazy gills."
The rules are in the book. The book is free.
📖 Download Free Build Your Fish →Every disaster taught us something. Every rule was paid for. You'll have your own. That's the game.
Write them down. Your own disaster rules are the ones that stick.