Today I Fucked Up is arguably the epi-centre of the Internet and the reasons why can be found in this post alone.
Us members of this human race are eternally fucking up. Hell I fuck something up every single day. But strangely, we love nothing more than hearing of how other people have fucked up.
A friend of mine once told me that in a driving lesson he was going around 60mph on a dual carriageway. The driving instructor told him to put it into fifth gear. But he fucked up and put it into reverse. I wasn’t there but from what I’ve been told the car made an almighty roar and the instructor’s face depicted an emotion of unimaginable fear.
I laughed but that was nothing compared to this next story.
In the aftermath of countless terrorist attacks across the globe one thing that probably isn’t a good idea is jotting down some notes pretending you’re a terrorist when you’re bored. But, of course, that’s exactly what JamieTheHamfisted did when he was tired of listening to his boss at work.
Here’s the post in full:
This happened a few years back.
Sitting on the phone at my office, my mind began to wander as I listened to a mumbling executive. “And then err I’ll need you to erm send me that – you know – report of the last quarter…” Yada yada yada. To pass one-sided conversations like this, I tend to imagine myself in exciting scenarios. An astronauts, an artist, an announcer, an alligator hunter.Advertisement
Suddenly, in my thoughts at least, I became a Slavic terrorist, and I was planning an attack on the corrupt America! A moldy putrid pumpkin ready to burst! I sketched on a company notepad an imagined plan of an attack – ‘For Putin, clown disguise, C4 in gift-wrap, subway station, 3rd Oct.’ Very silly and very clichéd. I chuckle down the phone line, I get back into my schedule and crumple the paper on my desk.
Midnight Saturday. In my one-room apartment, in a not-so-cheap part of town, all is quiet and all is well. I am nursing a hangover, but my bedsheets are warm and I can hear the subtle whir of an AC caressing me to sleep.
Thud. Thud. SMASH & BANG. A maelstrom of action — two minutes later and I am cuffed lying down in the hallway. As it transpired, a cleaner in the office had found my idle planning and reported it to HR who in turn had reported the matter to the local P.D. After several hours spent convincing them that a skinny Maltese man had no affiliations to a terror cell I was set free.
That is officially a fuck up.
Although pretending to be a terrorist for fun is never the brightest of ideas I do feel sorry for Jamie. It was just a moment of silliness as a cure for mind-numbing boredom.