Two Assholes Having a Conversation

It was a spring day in Westchester. The sky was a magnificent shade of blue, cherry trees were in full blossom, but beneath this stunning veneer of spring in all its beauty, I felt the driven, neurotic tension of life in Westchester, as I suddenly heard a voice scream out from across the street, "Hey, asshole."
Taken aback, I turned and saw this irate middle aged man in a blue blazer with a bright red face that looked like a tomato about to explode. "Excuse me?" I inquired.
"No, not you. The other asshole behind you."
"Who you calling asshole? Asshole!" said this fellow behind me as he walked across the street to confront this person.
"I am calling you an asshole, because when you backed in with that cheap Lexus you scratched my Jaguar."
"Where?"
"In the left hand corner of the bumper. Asshole!"
"We're back to that?"
"Back to what?"
"Asshole."
"Yes, you are an asshole and you scratched my car."
I was incredulous as I watched these two well dressed professional men standing on a street corner shouting at one another and arguing who was a bigger asshole, because one slightly nicked the other's fender.
I couldn't decide either. "Okay guys, enough!. I've been listening to you two arguing for the past five minutes over who is the biggest asshole. How about we decide this correctly? I've got a yard stick here and if you both drop your shorts, I can measure each one’s asshole."
They both looked at me stunned for a moment, looked at each other, and then said in unison, "You're the biggest asshole."
"No, I disagree. Mine is small, like that of a frog, water-tight."
"What are you, a foreigner? Asshole has nothing to do with size. It's a state of being."
"A state of being?" I asked.
"Yes." He stood up tall and proud that he remembered something from his Philosophy 101 course. "After all, I did go to Harvard, class of 1976." He said this with such a smug conviction that he presumed all other conversation should be precluded.
"That only goes to prove that you are a bigger asshole than me," said the other man.
"How is that?"
"I went to Yale, class of ’73and that proves beyond a shade of doubt that you are a bigger asshole!” he said with his hands on the lapel of his Brooks Brothers blue blazer.
"Come, come, don't be so ignorant. It's an … axiomatic truth."
"Axiomatic?"
"Yes, you went to Yale therefore you are an asshole?" His confidence was wrapped around him as tightly as a new pair of B.V.D.s.
"No, you jackass," said the other man dismissively.
"Don't change the subject. We were talking about assholes."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to confuse you."
"Oh, no problem at all. But any asshole worth his salt knows that it's really a tautology -- a self-apparent truth.”
"You don't say."
Two school children about nine and ten had been intently watching this discussion, and then started to whisper to one another. The man from Harvard looked up, confused, while he was trying to remember Wittenberg's rules on a-priori language formation. As he spied them he said, "Yes, what do you want?"
"Well, we've been listening to you two assholes talking for the past ten minutes and we're confused."
The man from Yale stepped in, "You can't call us assholes." As if to defend his nemesis from Harvard.
"Why can't we?" asked one boy.
"Because we're grown-ups."
"Oh? We didn't notice." Then the boys walked away and had an animated discussion.
The nine-year-old said, "I think they were both equally big assholes. What's your opinion?"
"Hmmm," thought the other boy, "I'm suspicious of both. After all, they're both from Ivy League schools. The first one is so neurotic he has to be a stock broker and the other is so anal he must be a real estate lawyer, and so that's two strikes."
"So what's the third strike?"
"How about -- two men on a street-corner arguing over who is a bigger asshole?"
"I concede the point," said the one boy. "So, both can be equally big assholes?"
"Without a doubt!" And the other boy put his arm around his friend's shoulder and said, "Fred, I think it’s going to be a beautiful day despite the local riff-raff."