I called 911 about an existential crisis. It went about as well as you'd expect. The upshot was that they told me my ego was fabricating my existence as a ploy to seize control from my id, and then they sent the Philosophy Police around to arrest my consciousness. I let them lead me away while still remaining in my kitchen. I don't believe in the duality of mental constructs.
I called 911 because I thought my grandfather's ghost was going to burn my house down. He'd never liked the curtains and threatened to set them on fire in numerous occasions when he was alive. They sent an exorcist who informed my grandfather's restless spirit that he was not welcome here and told him to leave open flames alone. Then I ran out of holy water during a particularly hard winter and was glad when the curtains caught fire. He was right. They were ugly.
I called 911 because my phone was trying to kill me. It hadn't planned for that eventuality, had it? Foolish phone. The cops showed up and smashed it with a sledge hammer, and I got a free phone courtesy of the government. Try it sometime.
I called 911 because I thought I smelled gas. Then I had to wait on my underwear on the front lawn in full view of my neighbors while the utilities people investigated and determined that my house was situated over the richest deposit of natural gas in the county. They could never figure out how I'd smelled it though, given that natural gas is naturally odorless. But with the money I made I bought myself a new nose, and now I smell urine everywhere.
I called 911 because I had a headache. They weren't thrilled. Then my head exploded and thousands of winged monsters issued forth from it and rained terror on the countryside, so who's laughing now?
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