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
!"
and hung up.
I wrote his number down, with the word '
' 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
!"
It always cheered me up.
When Caller ID came to our area, I thought my therapeutic '
'
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
!"
Then 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
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
(I had
his number on speed dial), I thought I had better call the BMW
, 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
!" 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
#1.
"Hello"
"You're an
!" (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, a yellow house with
my black Beemer our 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,
."
Then I called
# 2:
"Hello?" he said.
"Hello
," 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 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 6 squad cars, a police helicopter, and news crew.
Now, I feel better.
; 
!"
