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 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 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 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'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 asshole ( I had his number on speed dial,) I thought that I'd 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 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 a news crew.
NOW I feel much better. Anger management really works.
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