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.
The other day 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 Chuck?"
Suddenly a manic voice yelled out in my ear, "Get the right f***ing
number!" and the phone was slammed down on me.
I couldn't believe that anyone could be so rude.
When I tracked down Chuck's correct number to call him, I found that I had accidentally
transposed the last two digits.
After hanging up with Chuck, 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
I'd call him up and yell, "You're an asshole!"
It always cheered me up.
When Caller ID was introduced, I thought my therapeutic "asshole
calling" would have to stop. So, I called his number and said, "Hi,
this is John Smith from Verizon. 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 had been
waiting for that spot, but the idiot ignored me. I noticed a "For Sale" sign
in his back window, which included his phone number, so I wrote down the
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", he said.
"Can you tell me where I can see it?" I asked.
"Yes, I live at 128 Santa Barbara 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?"
"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.
Then I came up with an idea. I called Asshole #1.
"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 128 Santa Barbara 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.." and hung up.
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, here's your chance. I'm coming over right now."
Then I hung up and immediately called the police, saying I was on my
way over to 128 Santa Barbara Street to kill my gay lover. Then I
called Channel 3 News about the gang war going down on Santa Barbara
I quickly got into my car and headed over to watch. I got there just
time to watch two assholes beating the crap out of each other in front
of six cop cars, an overhead police helicopter and a news crew.
NOW I feel much better.
Anger management really works