For
all of you who occasionally have a really bad day, and you
just need to take it out on someone, don't take it out on
someone you know, take it out on someone you don't know.
I
was sitting at my desk, when I remembered a phone call I had
forgotten to make. I found the number, and dialed it.
A
man answered saying, "Hello?" I politely said, "This is Fred
Hanifin, could I please speak with Robin Carter?"
Suddenly,
the phone was slammed down on me. I couldn't believe that
anyone could be so rude. I tracked down Robin's correct
number, and called her. (I had transposed the last two
digits of her phone number).
After
hanging up with her, I decided to call the 'wrong' number
again. When the same guy answered the phone, I yelled,
"You're an asshole!" and hung up.
I
wrote his number down, with the word 'asshole' next to it,
and put it in my desk drawer. Every couple of weeks, when I
was paying bills or had a really bad day, I'd call him up
and yell, "You're an asshole!"
It
always cheered me up.
When
Caller ID came to our area, I thought my therapeutic
'asshole' calling would have to stop.
So,
I called his number and said, "Hi, this is John Smith from
the
Telephone
Company. I'm just calling to see if you're familiar with the
caller ID program?" he yelled, "NO!" and slammed the phone
down.
I
quickly called him back and said, "That's because you're an
asshole!"
So,
one day I was at the store, getting ready to pull into a
parking
spot.
Some boy in a black BMW cut me off, and pulled into the spot
I had patiently waited for. I hit the horn and yelled that I
had been waiting for the spot. The idiot ignored me. I
noticed a "For Sale" sign in his car window, so I wrote down
his number.
A
couple of days later, right after calling the first asshole
(I had his number on speed dial), I thought I had better
call the BMW asshole, too.
I
dialed and someone said, "Hello?"
I
said, "Is this the man with the black BMW for sale?" "
Yes
it is."
"Can
you tell me where I can see it?"
"Yes,
I live at 1802 West 34th Street. It's a yellow house and the
car's parked right out front."
"What's
your name?" I asked.
"My
name is Don Hansen," he said.
"When's
a good time to catch you, Don?"
I'm
home every evening after five."
"Listen,
Don, can I tell you something?"
"Yes?"
"Don,
you're an asshole!"
Then
I hung up, and added his number to my speed dial, too. Now,
when I had a problem, I had two assholes to call.
But
after several months of calling them, it wasn't as enjoyable
as it used to be. So, I came up with an idea:
I
called Asshole #1.
"Hello"
"You're
an asshole!" (but I didn't hang up.)
"Are
you still there?" he asked.
"Yeah,"
I said.
"Stop
calling me," he screamed "Make me," I said.
"Who
are you?" he asked.
"My
name is Don Hansen."
"Yeah?
Where do you live?"
"Asshole,
I live at 1802 West 34th Street, a yellow house with my
black Beemer our front."
He
said, "I'm coming over right now, Don. And you had better
start saying your prayers."
I
said, "Yeah, like I'm really scared, asshole."
Then
I called asshole # 2:
"Hello?"
he said.
"Hello
Asshole," I said.
He
yelled, "If I ever find out who you are..."
"You'll
what?" I said.
"I'll
kick your ass," he exclaimed.
I
answered, "Well, asshole, here's your chance. I'm coming
over right now."
Then,
I hung up, and immediately called the police, saying that I
lived at 1802 West 34th Street, and I was on my way over
there to kill my gay lover.
Then,
I called Channel 13 news about the gang war going down on
West 34th Street. I quickly got into my car and headed over
to 34th St.
There,
I saw two assholes beating the crap out of each other in
front of 6 squad cars, a police helicopter, and news crew.
Now,
I feel better.
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