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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 Called 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 Called 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 Beemer 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 right now."
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.
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Reproduction in whole or in part in any form or medium without express written permission is prohibited.
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