An attorney arrived home late, after a very tough day trying to get a stay of execution.
His last minute plea for clemency to the governor had failed and he was feeling worn out and depressed.
As soon as he walked through the door at home, his wife started on him about, ‘What time of night to be getting home is this?
Where have you been? Dinner is cold and I’m not reheating it’. And on and on and on.
Too shattered to play his usual role in this familiar ritual, he poured himself a shot of whiskey and headed off for a long hot soak in the bathtub, pursued by the predictable sarcastic remarks as he dragged himself up the stairs.
While he was in the bath, the phone rang.
The wife answered and was told that her husband’s client, James Wright, had been granted a stay of execution after all. Wright would not be hanged tonight.
Finally realizing what a terrible day he must have had, she decided to go upstairs and give him the good news.
As she opened the bathroom door, she was greeted by the sight of her husband, веnт over nакеd, drying his legs and feet.
‘They’re not hanging Wright tonight,’ she said.
He whirled around and screamed,
‘For the love of god woman, don’t you ever stop?!’
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 Robyn Carter?” Suddenly, a manic voice yelled out in my ear “Get the right f**in’ 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 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 up and yell, “You’re an a**hole!” It always cheered me up.
When Caller ID was introduced, I thought my therapeutic ‘аsshоlе’ calling would have to stop. So, I called his number and said, “Hi, this is John Smith from Telstra. 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 аrsеhоlе!”
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 idiот 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 аsshоlе (I had his number on speed dial), I thought that I’d better call the BMW аsshоlе, 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 34 Mowbray Blvd, in Vaucluse. 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 аsshоlе!” Then I hung up, and added his number to my speed dial, too.
Now, when I had a problem, I had two arseholes to call. Then I came up with an idea. I called аrsеhоlе #1.
“Hello.”
“You’re an аsshоlе!” I said, 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 34 Mowbray Blvd, Vaucluse, a yellow house, with my black Beamer parked in front.”
He said, “I’m coming over right now, Don, and you’d better start saying your prayers.” I said, “Yeah, like I’m really scared, аrsеhоlе,” and hung up.
Then I called аrsеhоlе #2.
“Hello?” he said.
“Hello, аrsеhоlе,” I said.
He yelled, “If I ever find out who you are…”
“You’ll what?” I said.
“I’ll kick you’re аrsе,” he exclaimed.
I answered, “Well, аrsеhоlе, 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 Mowbray Blvd, Vaucluse, and that I was on my way over there to кill my gаy lover. Then I called Channel 9 News about the gang war going down in Mowbray Blvd, Vaucluse.
I quickly got into my car and headed over to Mowbray. I got there just in time to watch two arseholes beating the сrар out of each other in front of six cop cars, an overhead police helicopter and a news crew.
Anger management really works.