When you 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 dialled it. A man answered saying,
"Hello." I politely said, "This is Andrew. 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!"
One day I was at the store, getting ready to pull into a
parking spot.
Some guy 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 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 in 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 Beamer parked in 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
rightnow."
Then I hung up and immediately called the
police, saying that I lived
at 1802 West 34th Street, and that 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 street. There I saw
two assholes beating the crap out of each other in front of
six squad cars, a
police helicopter, and news crew.
NOW, I feel better.
Anger management at it's very best