A little long- but definately worth the read!
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I was sitting at my desk when I remembered a phone call I'd
 forgotten to make. I found the number and dialled 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
 ****!" 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 was introduced, I thought my therapeutic '****'
 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 ****!"

 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 **** (I had his
 number on speed dial), I thought that I'd better call the BMW ****,
 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 ****!" Then I hung up, and added his number to
 my speed dial, too.

 Now, when I had a problem, I had two ****s to call. Then I came
 up with an idea. I called **** #1.

 "Hello."
 "You're an ****!" 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?"
 "****, 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,
 ****," and hung up.
 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 you're 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 34 Mowbray Blvd, Vaucluse, 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 Mowbray Blvd, Vaucluse.

 I quickly got into my car and headed over to Mowbray. I got there
 just in time to watch two ****s beating the crap out of each
 other in front of six cop cars, an overhead police helicopter and a
 news crew.


 NOW I feel much better. Anger management really works.