The World’s Biggest F*ckup

I should just get “The World’s Biggest F-ckup” tattooed to my forehead…censored, of course. I’d hate to offend anyone. You see…everyone has got to excell at something…everyone’s got a niche…a knack… It just so happens that I’ve got an extraordinary propensity for f-cking things up. Does that mean I’m careless? Probably. Or that I don’t pay attention to details? That, too. One could tactfully dismiss my all too frequent disasters as absentmindedness. Even as a child my teachers would describe me as a day dreamer with my head in the clouds. So I’m a bit daffy…does that make me sweet? No. I don’t think there’s anything endearing about making the people around me work their posteriors off to cover up my stupid mistakes.

I shouldn’t be allowed to do web work. The whole concept of uploading files to a server and not copying over someone else’s work has time and again proven to be too much for me. One of these days I’m going to go into work and they’ll have taken away my network cable in a last ditch attempt to contain my destruction…quarantine my devistation to a local mac mini.
I saw Steven Spielberg’s The Goonies again last night and I really identified with Chunk’s character. For those that don’t know, he’s the pudgy little boy that babbles on incesantly despite a lack of audience. The remarkable thing about Chunk is that he can always be relied upon to be unintentionally destructive. If something needs breaking, Chunk is called over to make it happen. I wish the power of my klutziness could be similarly harnessed…wielded by the forces of good or evil…I care not. Anything would be better than the merciless whim of chance.

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