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.
Everything above is the phone agent — funny, public, and survivable. There's a second set that isn't funny, and those are the ones that actually built the architecture in Part 9:
The first list is why people like this project. The second list is why it's built the way it is. Fish keeps its own running tally of what it gets wrong at the wrong page — including the count of how many were caught by a human rather than by itself, which is not a flattering number.