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Old 09-14-2010   #1 (permalink)
Bumper's Avatar
Join Date: Feb 2003
Location: Winnipeg, Canada
Posts: 14,212
Talking Butthead

For all of you who occasionally have a really bad day, and need to take it out on someone, don’t victimize someone you know, take it out on someone you don’t know.

Now get this. I was sitting at my desk at home, when I remembered a phone call I had to make. I found the number and dialed.

A man answered nicely saying, “Hello?”

I politely said, “This is Patrick Hennafin. May I please speak with Robin Carter?”

Suddenly, the phone was slammed down in my ear! I couldn’t believe anyone would be that rude. I tracked down Robin’s correct number and called her. I had transposed the last two digits when copying down her number. After I had hung up from speaking with Robin, I noticed the wrong number still lying there on my desk. I decided to call it again.

When the same man answered once again, I yelled, “You’re a BUTTHEAD!”, and hung up.

Next to the phone number, I wrote the word “butthead”, and put it in my desk drawer. Every couple of weeks, when I was paying bills at my desk, or otherwise having a bad day, I’d call him up.

He’d answer, and I’d yell, “You’re a BUTTHEAD!”, and hang up.

It would always cheer me up. A few months later, the phone company introduced Caller ID service to our area. This was a genuine disappointment to me...I would have to stop calling the butthead. Then one day I had an idea.

I dialed his number and heard him answer, “Hello?”. I made up a name. “Hi. This is Fred Williams at the phone company sales office. I’m calling to see if you’re familiar with our Caller ID program?”

“No!” he said, and slammed the phone down in my ear.

I quickly called him back and said, “That’s cause you’re a BUTTHEAD!”

The reason I’ve taken the time to tell you this story, is to show you that if there’s ever something that’s really bothering you, there’s almost always something you can do about it. You just have to call 555-0489. But I digress. On with my tale.

The old lady in the very crowded shopping mall parking lot was taking her own sweet time about pulling out of her space. I didn’t think she was ever going to go. Finally, her car began to move and she slowly backed out of the stall. I backed up even further to allow her plenty of room to pull out. “Great”, I thought, “she’s finally leaving.”

Suddenly, this black Camaro came flying up the parking aisle in the wrong direction, and pulled into the parking space she had just vacated.

I honked my horn and yelled, “You can’t just do that, Buddy! I was here first.”

The guy climbed out of his Camaro, ignoring me completely. He walked toward the mall as if he hadn’t even heard me. I thought to myself, “This guy’s a butthead, and there are sure lots of them in this world.” I noticed he had a “For Sale” sign in the back window of his car. I wrote down the number. Then I hunted for another place to park.

A couple of days later, I’m at home, sitting at my desk. I had just gotten off the phone after dialing 555-0489 and yelling “You’re BUTTHEAD!” (It’s really easy calling him now, since I have his number on my speed dial). I noticed the number of the jerk in the black Camaro lying on my desk, and decided I had better call this guy to.

After a couple of rings, someone answered the phone and said, “Hello?”

I said, “Is this the man with the black Camaro for sale?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Can you tell me where I can see it?”

“Sure, I live at 1842 West 34th Street. It’s a yellow house, and the car’s parked right out front.”

I said, “What’s your name?”

“My name is Don Hansen.”

“When’s a good time to catch you, Don?”

“I’m generally home in the evenings.”

“Listen, Don, can I tell you something?”


“Don, you’re BUTTHEAD!”, and I slammed the phone down.

After I hung up, I added Don Hansen’s number to my speed dialer. For a while, things seemed to be going better for me. Now, when I had a problem, I had two buttheads I could call. Then, after several months of calling the buttheads and hanging up on them, it just wasn’t as enjoyable as it used to be. I gave the situation some serious thought and came up with a plan.

First, I had my phone dial butthead # 1.

A man answered politely saying, “Hello?”

I yelled, “You’re a BUTTHEAD!”, but didn’t hang up.

The butthead said, “Are you still there?”

I said, “Yeah.”

He said, “Stop calling me.”

I said, “No.”

He said, “What’s your name, pal?”

I said, “Don Hansen.”

He said, “Where do you live?”

“1842 West 34th Street. It’s a yellow house with a black Camaro parked out front.”

“I’m coming over right now, Hansen. You better start saying your prayers.”

“Yeah, like I’m really scared, BUTTHEAD!”, and I hung up.

Then I called butthead # 2.

He answered, “Hello?”

I said, “Hello, BUTTHEAD!”

He said, “If I ever find out who you are...”

“You’ll do what?”

“I’ll beat the crap out of you!”

“Well, here’s your chance. I’m coming over right now, BUTTHEAD!”, and I hung up.

Then I picked up the phone and called the police. I told them I was at 1842 West 34th Street, and I was going to kill my gay lover as soon as he got home.

Another quick call to Channel 13 alerted them to the gang war underway on West 34th Street.

After that, I climbed into my car and drove over to West 34th Street.


If you ever want to watch two buttheads kicking the crap out of each other in front of six squad cars, a SWAT team, and a police helicopter, just give me a call. I taped it off the evening news.

Life's journey is not to arrive at the grave safely in a pristine, well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, totally used up and worn out, shouting "Holy Shit...what a ride!!"
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