NOW I FEEL BETTER

If you've had a 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 Dylan. Could I please speak with Robyn
Carter?"

Suddenly a manic voice yelled out in my ear "Get the right fucking
number!" and the phone was slammed down on me. I couldn't believe that

anyone could be so rude. When I tracked down Robyn's correct number to

call her, I found that I had accidentally transposed the last two
digits.

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 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 the telephone company. I'm calling to see if
you're f amiliar 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!" and hung up.

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, but the idiot ignored me. I noticed a "For Sale" sign
in his back 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?"

He said, "Yes, it is." I asked, "Can you tell me where I can see it?"

He said, "Yes, I live at 34 Oaktree Blvd, It's a yellow rambler, and

the car's parked right out in front."

I asked, "What's your name?"

He said, "My name is Don Hansen,"

I asked, "When's a good time to catch you, Don?"

He said, "I'm home every evening after five."

I said, "Listen, Don, can I tell you something?"

He said, "Yes?"

I said, "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.

He said, "Hello."

I said, "You're an asshole!" (But I didn't hang up.)

He asked, "Are you still there?"

I said, "Yeah,"

He screamed, "Stop calling me,"

I said, "Make me,"

He asked, "Who are you?"

I said, "My name is Don Hansen."

He said, "Yeah? Where do you live?" I said, "Asshole, I live at 34
Oaktree Blvd, a yellow split-level, I have a 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.

He said, "Hello?"


I said, "Hello, asshole,"

He yelled, "If I ever find out who you are..."

I said, "You'll what?"

He exclaimed, "I'll kick your ass."

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 34 Oaktree Blvd, and that I was on my way over there to kill my gay

lover.

Then I called Channel 9 News about the gang war going down in Oaktree
Blvd.

I quickly got into my car and headed over there. I got there just in

time to watch two assholes beating the crap out of each other in front

of six cop cars, an overhead news helicopter and surrounded by a news

crew.

NOW, I feel much better.

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