That bear story is good!....
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...
(excerpt from 'deathrattle' memoirs 2012 (re-written))
'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
I politely said, "This is Doth Babble - Could I please speak with Jillian?"
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 Jillian's correct number to call her, I found that I had accidentally transposed the last two digits.
(Didn't matter anyway - seems she was out getting her nose hair plucked at the time.)
After hanging up, I decided to call the 'wrong' number again.
When the same guy answered the phone,I yelled "You're an areshole!" and hung up.
I wrote his number down with the word 'arsehole' next to it, and put it in my desk drawer (- alongside my Websters dictionary - the Oxford version I have memorised and find humour with Benzworld post corrective cleverness [:P].
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 arsehole!" It always cheered me up.
When Caller ID was introduced, I thought my thrapeutic "arsehole calling" would have to stop.
So, I called his number and said, "Hi, this is Dick Little from Telecom. I'm calling to see if you're familiar with our Caller ID Programme?".
He yelled "NO!" and slammed down the phone. I quickly called him back and said, "That's because you're an arsehole!"
One day I was at the 'Shitty-yet still half functional Liver survivors Club', getting ready to pull into a parking spot.
(Ok, I confess - I was more looking forward to the pull than the parking [:I].)
Some guy in another Merc. 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 which included his phone number, so I wrote down the
A couple of days later, right after calling the first arsehole (I had his number on speed dial) I thought that I'd better call the Merc. arsehole too.
"Is this the man with the Merc. for sale?"
"Yes, it is", he said.
"Can you tell me where I can see it?" I asked.
"Yes, I live at 34 Mowbray Street, in South London. It's a yellow house,and the car's parked right out in front. You can't miss it - look for the two fingered flag as well"
"What's your name?" I asked.
"My name is Kay V. Whining," he said.
"When's a good time to catch you, KV?"
"I'm home every evening after five."
"Listen, whiner, can I tell you something?"
"You're an arsehole!"
Then I hung up, and added his number to my speed dial.
Now, when I had a problem, I had two arseholes to call.
Then I came up with an idea.
I called Arsehole #1.
"You're an arsehole!" (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 Kay Whining."
"Yeah? Where do you live?"
"I live at 34 Mowbray St. South London, a yellow house, with my Merc parked in front - the flag is for you and your bum boy mates."
He said, "I'm coming over right now whiner boy. And you had better start saying your prayers."
I said, "Yeah, like I'm really scared, arsehole," and hung up.
Then I called Arsehole #2.
"Hello?" he said.
"Hello, arsehole," I said.
He yelled, "If I ever find out who you are..."
"You'll what?" I said.
"I'll kick your arse," he exclaimed.
I answered, "Well, arsehole, 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 Street, South London and that I was on my way over there to kill my gay lover.
Then I called BBC News about the gang war going down in Mowbray Street.
I quickly got into my car and headed over to Mowbray.
I got there just in time to watch two arseholes beating the crap out of each other in front of six cop cars, an overhead police helicopter and a news crew.'
deathrattle holds nothing personal against arseholes (that we know of) - point of fact - he shares somewhat of a kindred spirit with them [8D].
All typos = my DCAF!.