06:44 pm:
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 computer, 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, could I
please speak with Robin Carter?" He replied "Wrong number,
asshole," and 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 I 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 that 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 grocery 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 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. Now, when I had a problem, I had two assholes
to call. But after several weeks 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?"
"I live at 1802 West 34th Street, Asshole, in a yellow house with
a black BMW 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 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 six squad cars, a police
helicopter, and a TV news crew.
Now, I feel better.
Current Mood: 
horny
Current Music: apartment 26 -- give me more