manu1959
Left Coast Isolationist
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'd forgotten to
make.
I found the number and dialed it. A man answered, saying "Hello."
I politely said, "This is Chris. 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 A**hole!" and
hung up.
I wrote his number down with the word 'A**hole' 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 A**hole!" It
always cheered me up.
When Caller ID came to our area, I thought my therapeutic 'A**hole'
calling would have to stop. So, I called his number and said, "Hi, this
is John Smith from the telephone company. I'm calling to see if you're
familiar with our Caller ID Program?" He yelled "NO!" and slammed down
the phone.
I quickly called him back and said, "That's because you're an A**hole!"
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'd been waiting
for that 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 A**hole (I had his
number on speed dial,) I thought that I'd better call the BMW A**hole,
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 A**hole." Then I hung up, and added his number to my
speed dial, too. Now, when I had a problem, I had two A**holes 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 A**hole #1.
"Hello."
"You're an A**hole!" (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?"
"A**hole, 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, A**hole."
Then I called A**hole #2. "Hello?" he said.
"Hello, A**hole," I said.
He yelled, "If I ever find out who you are..."
"You'll what?" I said.
"I'll kick your A**," he exclaimed.
I answered, "Well, A**hole, 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 A**holes beating the crap out of each other in front of six squad
cars, a police helicopter and a news crew.
NOW I feel much better. Anger management really works.
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'd forgotten to
make.
I found the number and dialed it. A man answered, saying "Hello."
I politely said, "This is Chris. 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 A**hole!" and
hung up.
I wrote his number down with the word 'A**hole' 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 A**hole!" It
always cheered me up.
When Caller ID came to our area, I thought my therapeutic 'A**hole'
calling would have to stop. So, I called his number and said, "Hi, this
is John Smith from the telephone company. I'm calling to see if you're
familiar with our Caller ID Program?" He yelled "NO!" and slammed down
the phone.
I quickly called him back and said, "That's because you're an A**hole!"
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'd been waiting
for that 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 A**hole (I had his
number on speed dial,) I thought that I'd better call the BMW A**hole,
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 A**hole." Then I hung up, and added his number to my
speed dial, too. Now, when I had a problem, I had two A**holes 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 A**hole #1.
"Hello."
"You're an A**hole!" (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?"
"A**hole, 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, A**hole."
Then I called A**hole #2. "Hello?" he said.
"Hello, A**hole," I said.
He yelled, "If I ever find out who you are..."
"You'll what?" I said.
"I'll kick your A**," he exclaimed.
I answered, "Well, A**hole, 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 A**holes beating the crap out of each other in front of six squad
cars, a police helicopter and a news crew.
NOW I feel much better. Anger management really works.
