Taught by a man who has personally tested every scenario so you don't have to. The accidents are one hundred percent real. The curriculum was assembled the hard way.
days since the last weird accident
Longest verified streak: 2022–2024 · full case history below
FIELD-TESTED SINCE 2022
Quality Assurance Engineer (Performance)
Chief Incident Officer — self-appointed, peer-reviewed by gravity
A distinguished practitioner of applied misfortune, Rahul has spent four consecutive years conducting rigorous, involuntary field research into how ordinary objects — jigs, plugs, trucks, and pedestrians — interact with the human body at inconvenient velocities.
His methodology is disarmingly simple: experience the incident firsthand, survive it, document it thoroughly, and then explain to colleagues why it was technically not his fault. His findings are cited extensively in tea-break discussions and at least one group chat.
He remains, against all available evidence, an optimist.
Each module is drawn from a documented incident, reviewed by the survivor himself, and presented here in the interest of science.
An in-depth study of what happens when an index finger volunteers itself inside a jig without filing the proper paperwork. Covers entrapment dynamics, fracture acoustics, and the precise facial expression produced at the moment of realization.
A barefoot exploration of floor-based electrical hardware, namely one upturned plug. When an earthing pin penetrates the heel, the skin there is thick — which sounds protective, until you learn it makes every subsequent step feel like a formal complaint. Includes the celebrated Tiptoe Protocol: traversing one's own home on the balls of the feet, like a very solemn ballerina.
A truck decides your lane is now its lane. You brake hard, on a wet road, at midnight. Physics — which never sleeps — files its report directly onto your right shoulder. This module covers hydroplaning, truck psychology, and severe soft-tissue damage as a personality-building exercise.
A perfectly good footover bridge stands fifty meters away. Pedestrians regard it, admire it, respect its engineering — and then cross the high-speed highway anyway, directly into the path of our keynote speaker's motorcycle. Covers skull and maxilla reconstruction, one fractured right hand, one badly bruised left hand, and the enduring philosophical question: why do we build bridges at all?
I attended his last accident live. Unforgettable production value. The truck had no lines, but tremendous stage presence.
He walked on tiptoes for weeks and still showed up. To most meetings. The important ones. Some of them.
We no longer let him carry the tea tray. This was a safety decision, not a personal one.
Attach your photo, add your name, and download your personal attendance card. Everything happens on your device — nothing is uploaded anywhere, because unlike our keynote speaker, we avoid unnecessary risk.
A confident smile photographs best. You are, after all, attending a survival seminar.
The accidents are real. The course is not. The lessons, tragically, are both.
Yes. It certifies that you laughed at another person's misfortune, which our legal department assures us is a matter between you and your conscience.
Wherever two or more colleagues gather near the office tea corner. Attendance is spiritually mandatory.
No. The attendance card is generated entirely in your browser. We collect nothing — no name, no email, no photo. We have enough problems.
Physically: mostly reassembled. Statistically: a miracle. Emotionally: he commissioned this website, so you may draw your own conclusions.
Admission is free. Your safety, however, remains entirely your responsibility.
Tuition: $0 · Deductible: your prideYou were already enrolled. Fate registered you at birth — we have merely confirmed the paperwork.
Your seat: anywhere away from plugs, jigs, trucks, and jaywalking pedestrians.
No data was collected. Not even your dignity.