This has been Public Sarcasm Announcement, if knowing is half the battle, you have still lost.

It all started with "Back to the Future", and an image of Marty Mcfly looking at his watch over a picture of the Deloreans dashboard showing the date he went to in the future. In fact, it's coming up. The entertaining part is that there are numerous memes depicting dates stating "Today is the day" he arrived. Most of them are incorrect. This began the need for a jerk to attack my sister, not physically mind you, but on Facebook. 

Sarcasm hates bullies.

I am honest, direct, and sarcastic. I will get upset on occasions of poor customer service, rude customers, and shitty coffee. However, after I have made my point I will wish you a good day, apologize and leave it that. I understand people have bad days. I can usually identify those people just by the look of absolute despair, anger, or anguish on their face. I will not try and take a moral stance to make you feel like shit. 

This guy proceeded attack her for posting hoaxes. 

Let's define a hoax here, shall we: A hoax is a deliberately fabricated falsehood made to masquerade as truth.^[1] It is distinguishable from errors in observation or judgment,^[1] or rumors, urban legend, pseudosciences or April Fools Day events that are passed along in good faith by believers or as jokes.

Lets Define a Meme:A meme (pron.: /ˈmiːm/; meem)^[1] is "an idea, behavior, or style that spreads from person to person within a culture."^[2] A meme acts as a unit for carrying cultural ideas, symbols, or practices that can be transmitted from one mind to another through writing, speech, gestures, rituals, or other imitable phenomena. Supporters of the concept regard memes as cultural analogues to genes in that they self-replicate, mutate, and respond to selective pressures. 

Pop culture makes these prevalent. Hoaxes are also all over. I will post connective information to show you the truth. Then will leave it to you. This man made himself a menace. I stepped in, made a few comments about the basis of information he was using and helped him understand what internet humor was. Shortly after, he un-friended my sister. I have been told this is a severe insult. Much like the social stigma of changing your relationship status first. 

Now this is something I just don't get. When did Facebook become the go to area for relationships? According to recent statistics from lawyers (I know, if information came from lawyers can we trust it?) that two thirds of divorces state Facebook some where in the reasons for divorce. Gives me the creeps that the value of a line of text in a drop down menu makes so much of a difference. I think the option should be for other people to be able to click a drop down menu to rate others and develop a public reputation. I for one expect to be notified the "Asshole" option was chosen at least 35 times in the first second of this application. I am totally OK with that. My friends know this about me, and frankly, they will be the first 35. I wear it as a badge of honor. 

Now, moving foreword, where the hell do you get off with assuming the funny item posted by some one else is offensive to you? Give it up people. It's a damn cat, or some funny pseudo political statement meant to snub some current situation. I decided to come up with a list of Sarcasm Given Rights on internet:

1. You have the right to scroll. In the event the post, article, meme, picture or rant looks like it might be a little too far outside of your views for you to be OK with reading it, feel free to scroll right on by. Your opinion really isn't that important. It's not going to have an affect on the people who posted the comment in the first place.

2. You have the responsibility to Google/Bing/Snopes/Huffington the article for real information pertaining to the validity of the information they are spouting. They won't learn without broader horizons. Also, the ones who are really fucking nuts, destroying their reality with the facts, are entertainment for months. Sometimes, you can see the spittle on the screen, even from the other side of the internet.

3. If the specific post "tags", "@", or by some other fashion of targeting posts to you directly, by all means a Social Media throw-down should commence. But, please, please, please do your research to make it good! You have a responsibility to make the show worth watching. I have emergency popcorn waiting.

4. You have the right to shut the fuck up. It's an opinion posted by some one else. If it is going to cause you stress you should really look at doing something else with your time. Maybe write a blog where you're a complete and total jerk to the internet ether. It makes me happy. I'd recommend it.

5. You have the right to be ignored. If you are posting something to cause an argument, you're a jerk. I should know. I do it whenever I am bored. I expect to have the trolls climb out from under their bridges and go at me. I also know and love my little troll minions. They give me something to do. If you don't get any posts on your inflammatory comment, you sir have been ignored. It's OK. It happens.

6. You have the right to chill the fuck out. If your time on social media, the internet, video games or porn sites leaves you sweating, and your heart racing with potential cardiac arrest, first you should see a doctor. Second you should disconnect. The internet is not a place for you. Some of us are sick fucks and will try to kill you any chance we get.

These are your rights, know them and CHILL OUT please.

This has been Public Sarcasm Announcement, if knowing is half the battle, you have still lost.

Small Treasures, and diamonds in the rough.

Small Treasures, and Diamonds in the Rough

It was a busy weekend here around the sarcasm clan, my sisters birthday was this weekend, my daughters soccer game and a few other events and deadlines that pretty much guaranteed I was not going to get some quality time with my press and other equipment. So when I finally had some down time I spent it cleaning some of the Type Cases that came with the press, pulling all of the little pieces out of the section, vacuuming it then wiping it out, and returning the letters back to their slot. I only finished 3 of them its a little time consuming, and I really need to figure out a way to clean the letters off as well. This is going to be the hard part, small delicate lead letters will take time to wash the dust of time and then dry. Other wise I am printing with dirty letters. Not much sense in that is there?

As with anything you buy with only part of the history as you go through it little pieces of its past come to your as you clean it up and polish it. Today I found these wonderful little treasures:

 Light bulb! (obviously done in the voice Gru, from Dispicable Me 2010)

 CONOCO

 Champlin USE Oils

 Mc Cormick-Deering Farm Machines and Implements

 John Deere

To give an idea of how big these little gems are (yes I am geeking out over them) Texaco and Philips 66 were there also. This fills out a small part of the printing presses history, part of the story I received was that this press was owned by a Colorado mining towns preacher and was used to print items for his sermons, town bulletins and Scrip for the company store. Brings back memories to some of the Mining Music.

Speaking of mines, I have been having an ongoing conversation with my spouse about the Diamond trade and frankly I don't understand how pressurized carbon is worth anything more than really expensive, pretty drill bits. The value is inflated from diamond traders, and sales. The idea of it being a heirloom is a sales campaign from the 70-80s. However she wants a Diamond in her setting. I offered a counter of getting a meteor ring instead, a truly rare item, but she says its not an option. I will have to figure it out at a later time.

Now for Monday's greeting card: Happy Birthday!

Front:

Happy Birthday, you are another year older!

Inside:

I promise this year I will try harder, so you don't have to deal with another.

Sarcasm Prints

Sarcasm Prints

  I recently found a wonderful ancient artifact in a garage that I decided I had to have. A Pearl #3 Letterpress.

It came with a lot of bonuses, a complete case of fonts, an 1881 Paragon Paper cutter, and a stapler that I don't think works. What I have decided to do is clean it up, restore what needs to be restored get it working, and make evil greeting cards.

So I am going to try and post ideas for Evil Greeting cards at least twice a week. Interlaced with stories of Sarcasm, his siblings and friends interacting with an unsuspecting society. I would like to thank Sarcasm's Sister and the two professional telemarketers that provided the fodder for the last post. I feel bad, that some people can mistake polite phone etiquette for the inability to speak English. I am a jaded, cynical  and sarcastic human being. This doesn't mean I go out of my way to be rude, especially when taking on the social contract of representing another person for a short time by answering their phone. In our house if you answered the phone you were representing the whole family, it was important and frankly  you don't want "She who won't be named" coming down on your for not being polite to one of her sewing customers, its just common sense people

And for Evil Greeting Card #1: Congratulations

Cover:

I have been told that calling people names is rude.

 Inside:

CONGRATULATIONS!!!!

I have had you scientifically recognized as an ass-hat.

Sarcasm's Sister Answers the Phone, Answers a question, and gets removed from the list... which is a good thing.

So, I answered my Moms land line, and I think I should stop doing that, if I don't recognize the number. Apparently the power of my voice alone can hurt people.

Here's how the conversation went, today at least:

Me: "Hello"
Lady: "Is"She who shall not be named" there?"
Me: "She's not in, can I take a message?"
Brief pause....
Lady: "Is "Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee whooooooooooooo shaaaaaaall not be named" there?"
Me: "She's not in, can I take a message?"
Another brief pause...
Lady: "Is "Sha wha shall nit be nomed" there?" (that was my favorite)
Me: "She's not in, can I take a message?"
Longer brief pause, accompanied by the click clack of a keyboard...
Lady: "Let's try this again. Is Miss "She who shall not be named" in?"
Me: (trying not to laugh, and speaking slower) "She's not in, can I take a message?"
Really long pause, and a couple of frustrated sighs.....
Lady: "Is there an adult in the house?"
Me: "I'm an adult."
Lady: "Is this Miss "She who shall not be named"?"
Me: "She's not in, can I take a message?"
Lady: "Please hold?"
Me: "OK"
Now I'm feeling guilty, so I stay on the line, for about 3 minutes... then.....
Guy: "Hello, ma'am?"
Me: "Yes?"
Guy: "I think we're having difficulties communicating. We're calling for a Miss "She who shall not be named".  Is she available?"
Me: (deliberately speaking slowly) "She's not in, can I take a message?"
Lady (in the background): "See? That's all she keeps saying! I think that's all the English she knows!"
This outburst is followed by a muffling sound, where I'm gonna assume a hand was placed over a microphone and she was told to shoosh.
Guy: "Habla Ingles?"
I giggled a little out loud at this point.
Me: "Sir, I speak perfect English, at least most of the time. I can see that you and your friend are having difficulties communicating, but it is most definitely not with me. I'm sorry for confusing her, but I don't know of any better way to answer her. You can ask for the person you are trying to reach in a thousand different ways, with different pronunciations, and even different dialect's for all I care..... which could be fun.......but it doesn't change my answer to her questions, or yours, and frankly, I don't understand why she's so confused and upset."
Guy: "OK..... But you didn't answer her questions....did you?"
Me: "Yes, of course I did."
Slight pause......
Guy: "....and she asked if a Miss "She who shall not be named" was there?"
Me: "Yes."
Guy (with regret in his voice): ".....and what was your answer to her questions?"
Me: "She's not in, can I take message?"
Lady in the background: "SEE?!" followed by more muffling...
Guy: "Thank you for your time ma'am. Your number will be removed from our call list."
Me: "Oh good. Thank you!"

Best laugh I've had in days....

Railroaded, Food Porn and Foul Legacies

Railroaded, 

Food Porn

and

Foul Legacies

1. Railroad/US: It has recently come to my attention that there were elections. During these election people were cast into "Stalls" where those cast people cast votes. With all this casting I find it remarkable that so little fish were caught. I mean seriously have you seen the prices of fish at the supermarket. Its outrageous. I would also like to congratulate the American people on voting. Good Job. I hope you received an adequately patriotic sticker for your trouble. From my experience you should have all written in that you would like to see less commercials. Or more facts in said commercials, or happier negative commercials. I honestly believe that I am negative enough for every-one. I was actually considering medicinal mood alterations for awhile. But its over now and you have no one to blame but yourself.
2. Food porn: I am a fan. I will also be attempting to make this. Cannibal Apple Pie or Cannapple Pie. I will post pictures when I have them.
3. A Foul Legacy: As whenever this time of year comes around I like bring a few things to your attention. First of all, Turkeys are horrible monstrous being that deserve what they get. Most of you know about the mythical first Thanksgiving, American's dressed in ridiculous garb got together for a big meal. The Native population almost attacked the (Must be said like John Wayne) "Pilgrums" when they were found in the woods speed loading blunderbuss' and killing Turkey's wholesale. What most of you don't know is why they had the feast in the first place. No it wasn't because lack of appropriate refrigeration would mean that all those birds they has slaughtered would go waste in about 48 hours. It was because the dark and evil "Turkey Overlords" had held the Native Population as their slaves for thousands of years. Then in one afternoon they were all set free. And what goes best with freedom? Food and lots of it, followed by the slow and deliberate re-enslavement and having their land stolen, then opening Casino's.

Getting Served

Getting Served

or

The Reason Sarcasm is now banned from WaWa.

*Disclaimer: The specific Starbucks employee mentioned was fired the next day. Oops.

Moving on....I happen to be a very easy going person. I don't ask for

much, in fact most of the time I don't really try and have a

conversation with people at all. The sound of people weeping gets on

my nerves and seems to follow me around any day I feel chatty. However,

this particular day all I wanted was a simple coffee. I like coffee.

Coffee likes me. We get along great, as long as no one tries to

converse with either of us until we get together for our morning

ritual. I either hit my usual Wawa (where the coffee is usually made with the

tender loving care of other religious coffee drinkers) or, if I'm feeling spendy,

I will hit the Starbucks, which is along the same route to work.

Well, on this particular day, I had to take a different path than I usually do, so I stopped at a relatively new Wawa in my area. Used to the good quality

brew I find at this franchise, I made my black, lightly sweet, cup of coffee,

and took my place in the check out line queue. Some of you are groaning right now. He hasn't paid for it yet, why is he drinking it already? Well, frankly, I made my cup of Joe all by myself, just the way I like it. I may not have filled the water reservoir, or scooped the grounds into the filter, but I poured the resulting liquid smile into the cup, added just the right amount of sugar, and stirred till the granules dissolved. They aren't going to put it back in the pot at this point, are they?

No, of course not. So, logically, standing at the counter waiting to check out is the perfect place to take the edge my early morning stabbie feelings. Two birds, one stone, and all that. Normally, this action would have resulted in a deep, throaty groan, closed eyes, and a small smile. On this day, however, I gagged. You can imagine my disappointment to discover the coffee was ice cold, and at a closer glance had black flakes of something floating in it. Please don't get me wrong, I enjoy a delicious glass of

iced coffee as much as any other addict. Floaties though? Not so much.

I know, it was probably just burned coffee from a pot left on the warmer too long, no biggie right? Well, to me, it most certainly IS a biggie. You see, I come from a long line of coffeinds.We are a rare breed of human who require the achingly sweet embrace of caffeine on a daily basis to ward off a murderous demon that resides deep within us. This demon, if not appeased, makes my normal sarcastic self seem like Bob Hope

in a Christmas special, with Jerry's kids, Santa Clause, and 6000 Puppies thrown in for that extra "if I wasn’t sure I wanted to kill myself before" effect.

We like our coffee hot, fresh, and not burned.

I started to walk back to dump out my cup, and try and find a fresh pot

of hot coffee. Before I could, some clerk, who will be forever known to me as dick face lumpy chins, stopped me and declared in a nasally power mad voice, "You drank from that CUP!!!".

Now, with the entire store staring at us, and the other coffee loving patrons

staring at me like I had something wrong with me, I explained to the

clerk that I had all intentions of purchasing said cup of coffee until

I realized they must have used frozen piss to make this batch of

coffee and I was going to go back to find a decent cup of coffee from

their plethora of coffee dispensers and then purchase a cup when and if I

found one. At this point the other patrons began to try theirs, and

several looks of disgust ruled out the Hazelnut, Irish cream, and

Jamaican Blend from the options available to me. As the clerk

berated me for about 2 minutes for abusing the serve yourself kindness of his establishment, I watched as several future customers set their coffee cups on the counter and left. I pointed to the counter then to the clerk and said. "Your service sucks, your coffee sucks, and now everyone who is in here knows it too." I handed him my cup of coffee and left.

Luckily there is a Starbucks down the road. Well, at least usually that

is a good thing. While waiting in line at the drive through window,

the common thing to do is listen to music and think about what you are

going to order. The person in front me however felt the need to yell.

I assume her screams of anger were at a person on the other end of a

cell phone although she had no cell phone in hand, no kids in the

backseat and no passenger, unless they happened to be invisible. I

suppose she could be an actor, and any play with that kind of language

is going to be high on my must watch list, but I doubted it. So with

the drama unfolding before me we crept slowly in the manufactured

circle of service around the Starbucks. The screamer pleasantly

ordered something with too many names to be called a coffee, and I

ordered my usual heart bursting caffeine overload. When I finally

reached the window, I paid for the white and green cup, and waited for them to finish making my coffee. The clerk who took my money set my cup of coffee on the little metal counter just inside the window. I knew it was my cup because the espresso box was marked with a number 6, followed by 3 question marks.

And then she left. Walked away. Leaving my cup of coffee all by itself,

alone, without handing it out the window to me. There sat my hot

cup of coffee, slowly getting colder, kept from me by only a glass and

metal frame. That was locked by the way! I tried to open it but it

wouldn't open.

About 2 minutes later I noticed the woman working the drive through window was standing at the corner having a cigarette, and talking on her cell phone. And there I sat. So I did the only thing I deemed to be the least violent, much to the chagrin of my inner demon, who would’ve preferred I smashed the drive through window and retrieve my cup of coffee. I got out of my truck, locked the doors, and went in to talk to the manager. About the time I got inside they were all asking about the truck sitting in the drive through. I explained that it was mine and I had been forced to stare at my coffee sitting in the window in front of me for the last five minutes without bothering to hand it to me before she took a smoke break out behind the Starbucks. I think I went on for a little while because I blacked out with rage at this point and found myself walking back to my truck with a gift card and a fresh cup of coffee in hand. So there I was, a fresh cup of coffee in hand, and more free cups to come in the future, walking past the clerk who had snubbed and forgotten me. Well, obviously, there was only one thing to do. I got in my truck, rolled down my window and drove up to where she was.

I poured my coffee on the ground about where her feet were and drove

next door to Dunkin’ Donuts and got a cup of coffee there.

I have not been back to the WaWa. However, the manager of the Starbucks remembered me, apologized again and gave me another free cup of coffee. Cool guy, he also fired the clerk. That's justice, and the Sarcasm Way.

So remember, Customer service is not dead, with the appropriate amount

of rage it comes back rather quickly, with bonus prizes.

Ballad of the wing-men..

I am not a follower of the "Bro" Bible as founded by Barney Stinson on "How I met your mother." In fact I have been out of the dating game for some time. Well, 12 years is more than some time, but that is a conversation for another time. But, as a married man, when hanging out with single men, you are going to be the wing-man 99.9% of the time, and it is a responsibility I take seriously. Unlike single men, married men have nothing to prove, and nothing to lose by walking up to an attractive women with the trademarked, "Ha-a-a-ave you met Ted?" If they shoot us down it doesn't effect our ego because we already have a beautiful wife we are committed to back home, so nothing is lost to us.

For the last 6 months, I have been working a contract with the US Navy as a Graphic Designer on board an Air Craft Carrier. With my civilian rank, I find myself spending more time with pilots and officers. This always guarantees a good time, and stories to share with the wife and friends back home. While we have been busy and have only stopped at a few liberty ports, I feel it is my duty to share some lessons learned as the permanent on hand wing-man.

First: Your responsibility as a wing-man (as it pertains to flying wing-man for Naval aviators; there is a difference trust me). Accept your call sign. Mine was "Cash". This is important to aviators. They will have entire conversations with you using this name. This is your new name, accept it, embrace it, and respond accordingly. You can miss very important details about the path your night is going to take if you do not pay close attention. For example: "Cash, you'll need to talk to the one with a mustache so she doesn't get bored and take all the hot women home with them." This small missed phrase almost lost my friends the chance to spend some quality time with very attractive Swedish teachers. It is called jumping on the hand-grenade. As the wing man, who has no interest in the pursuit, this is your responsibility to deal with. Be funny, interesting, and keep the pattern full. Once the the rest of your group has paired off and separated from the hand-grenade, you politely excuse yourself, or mention your wife and kids. Hand-grenade defused, you can carry on with the rest of your night filled with people watching, dancing, copious amounts of imbibing......or whatever your thing is.

Second: If you are all headed back to the hotel, and the cab only has room for 4 people, and you are the fifth, as the wing-man it is your responsibility to catch the next cab. As a note, this cab should not arrive at the hotel for at least 2 hours. Arriving early can cause some unsavory mind burning trauma, should you arrive too early and find your single room has been commandeered for the greater good. So, be prepared to have extra money for time at the hotel bar, or have a visual code, like the universally understood sock on the door handle, and make sure your roomies set your laptop by the door so you can at least peruse the inter-webs while they "Call in the alert 30 strike package." On a second note, if your pilots are slapped and left naked following an also naked, quickly dressing, British female down the hotel hallway after the last phrase is shouted during intercourse, it is in no way your fault if she makes it out the front door of the hotel and into a cab. Holding people any where against their will is kidnapping, and always will be. If you have to explain this, it is time to call in a replacement pilot. You do not want to be associated with this one anymore, no matter how funny it is to watch him try to explain to the military police and local authorities why he is bare naked on the street, screaming at a cab that left 20 minutes ago.

Third: Pilots should have respect for the wing man. I walked up and talked to the women first, kept the conversation funny and personable every time the conversation died, sacrificed sleep, and at times, pride, so that you could pursue your conquest of an exotic goddess in a foreign land. You owe the wing man. He lied, bribed, sacrificed, and sweated so you could have your fun. This is a list of things you should not ask your wing man to do.

#1: Permanent forfeiture of hotel room based on "falling in love". Quite frankly, "FUCK YOU". This is most important when you have been on a US Naval Vessel for the last 6 months. Get your own damn room if you are in love, and want to spend the last 2 days of liberty with your Spanish beauty you only met last night in that topless bar. You can't have my room. You wanted to share a room, and feel uncomfortable when your roommate walks in on you.

#2: If you order a round, you ordered the round, and therefore you pay for said round out of your money. Just because my call sign is "CASH" doesn't give me the ability to shit money and cover your idiocy.

#3: If you get her drunk, you have to clean up after her. That is not my job. If I have to, I will curse your name the entire time I hold her hair back as she pukes, while you try to pick up her friend down at the bar.

#4: Any failure on your part to close the deal is not my fault. I don't care how close you got, what went wrong, what you said about the hair on her nipples, or shouting random ass thoughts while in mid-coitus. NOT MY FAULT. This is not potty training, or summer camp. I am not Yoda. I am not going to call a time out and slap the shit out of you before you abruptly slap her ass and knock her off the crappy box springs on wheels they call beds in your small cheap ass room. However, if you wake me up, or approach me while I'm eating, to go into detail about what went wrong, right, or ask what an STD looks like, I will fucking stab you in the face.

#5: During the down time of the cruise at our hotel, if I am in my room, using the internet to talk to my kids, wife or mother, and you walk in and expose yourself to any of my family, punishment will be dealt out when you are drunk, and at your most vulnerable. For 50 Euros, most janitors will jump into bed with you while you are passed out. Many will do it butt ass naked wearing lipstick, and will kiss you awake for 150. While you sew your oats, I want the time to talk with my family. I respect your fun. Please respect mine, or suffer the consequences.