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 a**hole,"
and hung up.
I wrote his number down, with the word 'a**hole'
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. He'd answer and I'd yell, "You're
an a**hole!"
It always cheered me up.
When Caller ID came to our area, I thought my
therapeutic 'a**hole' 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 a**hole!"
So, one day I was at the store, getting ready to
pull into a parking spot. Some boy 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 a**hole (I had his number on speed dial), I
thought I had better call the BMW a**hole, too.
dialed and someone said, "Hello?"
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 a**hole!" Then I hung up, and added
his number to my speed dial, too. Now, when I had a
problem, I had two a**holes 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 a**hole #1.
"Hello"
"You're an a**hole!" (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?"
"A**hole, I live at 1802 West 34th Street, a yellow
house with my black Beemer out 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, a**hole."
Then I called a**hole # 2:
"Hello?" he said.
"Hello a**hole," I said.
He yelled, "If I ever find out who you are..."
"You'll what?" I said.
"I'll kick your a**," he exclaimed.
I answered, "Well, a**hole, 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 3 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 a**holes
beating the crap out of each other
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 a**hole,"
and hung up.
I wrote his number down, with the word 'a**hole'
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. He'd answer and I'd yell, "You're
an a**hole!"
It always cheered me up.
When Caller ID came to our area, I thought my
therapeutic 'a**hole' 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 a**hole!"
So, one day I was at the store, getting ready to
pull into a parking spot. Some boy 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 a**hole (I had his number on speed dial), I
thought I had better call the BMW a**hole, too.
dialed and someone said, "Hello?"
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 a**hole!" Then I hung up, and added
his number to my speed dial, too. Now, when I had a
problem, I had two a**holes 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 a**hole #1.
"Hello"
"You're an a**hole!" (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?"
"A**hole, I live at 1802 West 34th Street, a yellow
house with my black Beemer out 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, a**hole."
Then I called a**hole # 2:
"Hello?" he said.
"Hello a**hole," I said.
He yelled, "If I ever find out who you are..."
"You'll what?" I said.
"I'll kick your a**," he exclaimed.
I answered, "Well, a**hole, 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 3 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 a**holes
beating the crap out of each other
