My Mate Furious D
Used to work in a shop selling mobile phones and other assorted crappolla. One happy St. Patrick’s Day, FD and his boss decided that on such a day, work should really take a distant second place to getting utterly arseholed. (this was despite the fact that neither of them are Irish, or have even the remotest link to Ireland, but anyhoo, and what a brilliant boss btw, why have I never known one like this?)

So they put their collective braincelery together and came up with the following doozy of a plan, which is either twisted evil genius beyond belief, or just butt-chompingly dim, depending on which way you look at it:

These men-on-a-mission filled bucket after bucket with water and fucked it all over the floor of the shop. On they merrily continued until there was genuine splashage underfoot. They then called Head Office, said there had been a leak and that it was unsafe for staff and customers. Not wanting to risk a lawsuit, Head Office promptly ordered the shop be closed for the remainder of the day and a team of cleaners / plumbers etc be called in to clear up the mess.

Off to the pub they go. Quality.

Unfortunately, the cleaners must have had St Paddy’s day on their mind too, because they turned up, did a shagpacket job and also cocked off to the pub.

The carpeting was wrecked. As time went on it went stale and mouldy. Things began to grow and live it it. Most importantly, it fucking honked.

Furious D wasn’t sacked…he left because the place stank.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 13 Aug 2007, 9:44, Reply)