Showing posts with label Sarcasm. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sarcasm. Show all posts

Saturday, August 19, 2017

Triple Washed

Here's a slogan for producers of packaged lettuce:

"Our lettuce is triple-washed, ensuring that you get the cleanest bugs in the produce industry!"

Saturday, November 22, 2014

The Things I Say

A standard phrase I'd use at work was "It's not inadequate," which was my wise-ass way of endorsing results that I wasn't thrilled with.  A student's paper with a grade of "C" would be "not inadequate."  If I was even less thrilled, I might say, "It's not terribly inadequate."  This latter phrase was my euphemism for "good enough yet pretty lousy all the same."

But some people took it the wrong way.  They actually were pleased to receive this response.  They'd show me their design or report, and I'd say "that's not inadequate," and they'd smile proudly, as if I'd just affixed a gold star to it.

Well I don't use it any more, perhaps because it has lost it's intended impact.  Or perhaps because sarcasm is being discouraged in much the same way as discrimination -- it's just not professional.  The utterly flavorless "good" has supplanted my "it's not inadequate" nowadays.

My new phrase is now "Crapizoids," which I exclaim out loud to myself instead of, um, well, a four letter word that begins and ends exactly like "firetruck."  I say "Crapizoids" a lot, like when the e-mail client freezes just before I click "Send" on a message that took 30 minutes to compose and included several links to various documents scattered in remote and obscure parts of the network.  "Crapizoids" is for when I hurriedly press Ctrl-A (which selects all content), instead of the neighboring Ctrl-S (save), followed by the Enter key and the witty content of a new paragraph, which replaces all the selected content.  (The Undo feature is my best friend for a good reason, but sometimes it reverts away from good stuff, too.)  "Crapizoids" can be heard right after every power failure.

Right at the moment I'm writing this in a public library as I wait for my daughter's karate lesson to end.  And it has ended, so I have to leave this post without a snazzy ending.  Crapizoids!  I hope it's not too inadequate.



Snoskred's response to the NaBloPoMo writing prompt, "Tell us about a quirk or odd habit that you have," inspired today's post.

Sunday, November 17, 2013

Not Too Young For AARP

I turned 50 this year.  Amid the few birthdays cards that I still get at my age was an "invitation" to join AARP1.

In case you're very young or not from the USA, essentially AARP is the group you join when you reach retirement age, which, nowadays, is when you're too old to work.  Of course, there's very little mention of the words "old" and "elderly," or even "retired" on the AARP About page.  The reason for not mentioning the words "old," "elderly" and "retired" is simple.  They don't want people to wait until they're old and/or retired to join.  Baby boomers are dying off, so in order to increase membership, AARP frankly needs to seek younger members.

Also, they don't want people to freak out when they receive their first invitation to join AARP, as I did.

"Join AARP?!  I'm not Old!" I exclaimed out loud to my wife.

"You're eligible to join when you reach 50," my wife patiently explained to me.

"Grumble," I grumbled.

She's three years younger than me, so I can't wait until she gets her invitation, so I can gleefully say the same thing back to her.

My wife has been borrowing back issues of the AARP Magazine from the library.  I'm perplexed about why she would find the publication interesting, unless it's to see who's on the cover.  Of course, you don't need to borrow the entire magazine to see who's on the cover.  You can just walk by the magazine rack and glance at it.  But then once you see who's on the cover, you might want to read about why they're on the cover.  Recent issues that graced our coffee table featured such hotties as Gloria Estefan, Sharon Stone, and my all-time favorite-to-die-for Valerie Bertinelli.

Those women aren't necessarily hotties today, but they certainly were hotties way back when I divided the world population into "Women Who Are Hot" and "Everyone Else."  So to see them on a magazine for old folks is shocking, which is probably why they're on the cover.  I expect any day to see Miley Cyrus featured very soon.


1 The acronym once stood for "American Association of Retired Persons," but they don't seem to refer to it any more.

Monday, July 16, 2012

Tired of Summer Attire

Every summer I see folks go out into public in appalling fashion.  It's as if they've just stepped out of the bath and threw on whatever they had handy.

It's the flimsy footwear that actually troubles me the most.  I just get the feeling that these folks are wearing some planks on their feet that are liable to fall off at any moment.  "How do they manage to walk?"  I wonder to myself.  What if they had to hike through some rough terrain, or scale a rocky cliff, or even chase after a haughty ice cream truck?

I guess that's the thing about summer.  It's the time of year that folks don't hike, don't scale, don't run.  They just indolently shuffle along like a five year old boy wearing his father's slippers.

If the saber-toothed tiger ever makes a comeback, these folks will be the first of our species to become extinct.

Friday, July 23, 2010

Trip to the District of Columbia -- The Capitol

Last week we drove to Virginia to spend a week with a cousin. Two of our goals was to ride into DC to visit The US Capitol Building and The National Zoo.

Unfortunately, this didn't pan out. The high heat and humidity made even the thought of strolling among large smelly, furry, panting beasts unfathomable. I'm referring to the zoo, now, not the Capitol.

Yet, the heat deterred us at the Capitol, too. Or rather, it was the security guards that deterred us, the ones that insisted that we do not enter with the bottles of water we carried with us for survival. It's not clear that we could even bring in the empty backpack owing to the size limit of 12" by 14" on bags. And we couldn't simply leave our possessions outside the door since that was a security risk. Their suggestion was for one of us to stay outside with our belongings while the other entered and explored the building. I didn't mind staying behind, but my wife's usual confusion about directions was made worse from the combination of high heat and pain meds. And I had no interest in going in alone.

We tried to explain how it took us an hour and a half to get there by way of driving, subway and walking, and it would take the same amount of time to return home, and that the water was vital for us to prevent dehydration and to take prescription medication. The response was, "Please step away from the entrance."

The fact that security at the Capitol is even higher than at airports suggests that Congress is behaving in a manner that invites retribution. Maybe if our lawmakers felt less isolated from the water-bottle-wielding general public, they'd act more responsibly with our tax dollars.

I wouldn't be surprised if security later insist on having us remove all our clothes before entering the Capitol. After all, a tourist could easily throw a shoe at someone, or use a belt as a whip, or use a bra as a garrote. Of course, we wouldn't be allowed to leave our clothing on the premises -- we'd have to undress at the Park & Ride and ride the transit system naked.

Anyway, you can find the official list of prohibited items here.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Traffic Magnet

DELAYS FROM HERE TO ETERNITYI drive on the highway only once per month. But the last two times I drove on the highway left me hoping that they really were the last times.

Both times I've encountered huge traffic delays. I mean huge, like a 45 minute trip taking an hour and forty-five minutes.

I wonder if the folks I meet with at the end of these treks believe that I'm a traffic magnet. I imagine them anticipating what roads I'll drive on in order to avoid driving on those same roads: "Hey, SP. I got a job interview tomorrow morning. You're not by any chance planning to drive on the Mass Pike from nine to ten tomorrow, are you? Just curious."

The latest trip, which was two nights ago, started out fine. I left 15 minutes early in case I got into the usual rush-hour delays. The trip to the highway was uneventful. But as soon as I turned onto the entrance ramp to the highway, I saw a sea of brake lights.

The highway alert system sign simply said, "DELAYS 5 MILES." "Oh well, this is just the usual rush hour backup," I told myself thinking that there might be some slow downs. But because I don't go that way often, I didn't realize this was too far from where the usual rush hour traffic starts.

Had the sign been more specific, like "LEFT TWO LANES CLOSED IN 5 MILES,"1 I'd've gotten off and taken a detour. Those signs are certainly capable of delivering such wordy messages, such as the one I saw in town this morning that read "HAPPY THANKSGIVING! REMEMBER TO BUCKLE UP!" on two alternating screens. And the fact is, when you're going a mere two miles per hour, the messages can be quite long indeed since you have about ten minutes in which to read them.

Before I end this post I need to do two things. First, I want apologize to the driver of the emergency response vehicle. I'm sorry for flashing my lights and beeping at you. I wanted to alert you to the fact that you pulled out right in front of me and were blocking the only remaining open lane with your vehicle. Admittedly, I ended up expressing anger at you for having a conversation with an EMT pedestrian in the middle of my escape route. I now realize that you were focused solely on the trauma of the collision and that you were unaware of the several tens of thousands of irate drivers behind me. I hope I did not alarm you by squeezing my vehicle past yours and tearing off at full throttle. Next time I promise to tear off at only half throttle, assuming there is a next time. Cheerio!

Second, I wish to publicly admonish the thoughtless cretin who entered "DELAYS 5 MILES" onto the sign. You utter Dickwad. Next time be more informative. Be precise. Oh, and have a Happy Thanksgiving!



1Or "TURN BACK NOW YOU FOOL!"

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

The Color of Fibromyalgia

In a brief discussion with her mom about Fibromyalgia awareness products, Jenny Ryan complains that "other diseases TOOK all the good colors."

Maybe Fibromyalgia marketing people have to diversify into patterns or shapes.  Autism took the puzzle-piece shape, which, perhaps not coincidentally, is also used as the logo for MS Office.

So what shape or pattern should Fibromyalgia be?  I'd go with some combination of sharp angles, irregularly-spaced, fuzzy, amoeba-like blobs, and question marks.

The sharp angles would, of course, represent the pain.  The irregularly-spaced, fuzzy, amoeba-like blobs would be the side effects from the meds, particularly the cognitive impairments.  The question marks would symbolize the fact that medical science doesn't know how to diagnose it or cure it, or even what the fuck causes it.

Monday, September 7, 2009

If You Can't Beat 'Em, Join 'Em

Churches rely on donations from their members. In the fall, our church's "Stewardship Committee" (SC) will swarm over us to discuss how much of an increase over our current level of giving we'd be willing to pledge for next year. Needless to say, it's a dreadful time of year.

Last year I got voice mail from one of the SC drones. He wanted me to call him back and let him know when would be a good time for him to stop by and discuss increasing our pledge by 10%. Huh? You mean, not only do we have to give you more money, but we have to break our asses cleaning the house to make it presentable enough for an actual visitor? Whoa.

Actually, it turned out to be not too bad. First, I met him on Sunday between services and asked him if we might not discuss the matter in the office, to which he agreed. And then when it came to actually discussing it, I found he was even more uncomfortable asking for money than I was about being asked. In fact, all he really said to me, apologetically, was "You know what you can give. It's between you and G-d." And with that, a few days worth of anxiety and dread vanished like a startled jack rabbit.

This year I have the ultimate plan to avoid even getting asked about our pledge. I would simply join the stewardship committee1. Isn't that pure elegance?

This new kind of thinking can be applied to all sorts of things we need to avoid. Like Jury Duty. It's easy to get out of jury duty. You can simply be a part of state government. "If elected, I promise not to serve on jury duty." Even easier, you can get convicted of a felony. And actually, a few state officials like to play it safe and do both.

Do cops give out tickets to their fellow cops? Of course not!

Think of all the things you can avoid just by joining in: Insurance Salesmen, Jehovah's Witnesses, Girl Scout cookie drives, fall harvest vegetable giveaways, NPR membership drives. Gosh, I get dizzy thinking about it all.

What do you need to avoid?



1Of course, I'm assuming that the stewardship committee doesn't go around asking its own members for pledges.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Writer's Camp

I wrote three blog posts while driving to work one day last week. Unfortunately, by the time I parked the car, walked into the building, greeted a half dozen coworkers, fired up my computer, dispatched the voice mail, provided duplicate reports to people who managed to lose them last week, got a cup of tea and a bottle of water... umm, sorry, I lost my train of thought.

Oh yes, by the time I did all that, I could barely remember the subject of my three blog posts, never mind the content.

strugglingwriter wrote about this several weeks ago. He wrote the Greatest Blog Post Ever while mowing the lawn. But then, by the time he finished the job and put the mower away, he forgot half of what he'd plan to write.

Anyway, ever since I read that, I had a great idea for a business. It would be a Writer's Camp. You'd come to my house, and I'd put you to work doing all the regular chores you'd do at home -- chores so mundane that they'd inspire your mind to wander into lush fields of prose. And then, whenever you feel like it, just drop what you're doing and write.

Doesn't that sound awesome?

Of course, when you're done writing, I'd expect you to finish what you started. And remember to use the mildew-resistant paint in the bathroom.



Edited on 2010-01-04 to credit strugglingwriter for inspiring this post. I had originally thought that Blogger Dad wrote the greatest blog post ever.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Cartoon on Healthcare Reform

"I love having my health care decisions made by insurance company accountants!"

Read the whole Tom Tomorrow cartoon.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Envy of the Medical Specialist

I used to envy meteorologists because no matter how wrong their forecasts, people continue to listen to them. They have no qualms about predicting snowfall amounts "anywhere from three to nine inches." That's like following a recipe that tells you to bake for about an hour, give or take 30 minutes! Then, the day after said storm, in which about one inch fell, they'll just blame it on "the computer model."

But my weather-person envy ended when my wife went on the "find a doctor to cure this crushing, relentless fatigue and endless, sickening nausea" odyssey. Now, I envy medical specialists.

Fatigue and nausea are frustrating symptoms for a doctor to treat. There are no blood tests or radiographs that can quantify how tired a person is, or how close that person is from lurching toward the exam room's wastepaper bin and retching in it. No matter. If the primary care physician refers his patient to you to test for a disease, all you have to do is order a blood test. If it comes back negative, you're in the clear. If it comes back positive (which is unlikely), you can prescribe meds and reorder the blood tests until they come back negative. Or you can just report the outcome of the test and let the referring physician prescribe treatment. Either way, you don't actually have to relieve the patient's symptoms! Because when it comes to fatigue and nausea, it's your word against that of your blood test. And who's the doctor going to listen to?

Yes, I dream of a career in which I can cure blood tests.

Sunday, March 1, 2009

The Real Danger

Sandra Herold considered her pet chimpanzee Travis to be her son.  But on February 16, Travis brutally attacked Sandra's best friend and business partner Charla Nash.

According to an article in The Hartford Courant1, "The U.S. House of Representatives last week approved legislation that would ban private ownership of primates as pets."

That same article observed, "Unopened boxes and bags of Travis' treats — Butterfingers, Fig Newtons, marshmallow Peeps and coffee cakes — are piled on the floor and counters."

Which makes me wonder whether Congress should've instead banned the private ownership of Butterfingers, Fig Newtons, marshmallow Peeps and coffee cakes as pet food snacks.


1"Travis The Chimp's 'Mom' Tells Their [sic] Story," by Alaine Griffin of The Hartford Courant

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

One Advantage to Being Gluten Intolerant

It's lousy that I have to avoid wheat. But there is one positive aspect. I don't need to drink to get plastered. All I have to do is eat a big bowl of pasta to go off into la-la land. It's cheaper, and it's perfectly legal, too!

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Husbandic Therapy

My wife was especially despondent after she realized the pain management doctor wasn't interested in treating her. So after assuring her that we'll find another one, as well a new neurologist, I suggested she go for another visit with the psychologist.

"Oh, he's no help at all. All he does is talk about his own problems."

"Well, yes. That's special 'Talk about yourself' therapy that's designed to make the patient forget about her problems."

It drew a chuckle, at least.

Monday, January 12, 2009

Biological Barometers

Last week, Kerry shared an excerpt of an article that discussed how seasonal changes in weather can affect our bodies and our health. Read it.

On Friday, I had accompanied my wife to her first appointment with a pain management specialist, which was where we witnessed the Ominous Sign. Armed with the knowledge in the aforementioned article, I told the doctor that my wife has the most trouble in the winter. He made a brief guffaw-like sound and said, "Move to Arizona."

I persisted. "A lot of times the pain is worse during low pressure weather. Wouldn't a hyperbaric chamber help out?"

This elicited an unmistakable laugh, which was followed by, "Try to get that one by the insurance company."

I wasn't aware that I was joking about my wife's pain. How could I have been so insensitive?

To make amends, I cleaned out our bedroom's ionizing air purifier, so now it works without sounding like a bug zapper. I just wish I had one in this office right now -- the dog is farting up a storm.

Monday, December 29, 2008

Dear Police Officer

Dear Police Officer:

Thank you for taking the time to remind me that my car's registration expired. I understand that you set aside personal safety -- passing other cars at high speeds and stopping on the two-lane highway -- in order to issue me the written reminder, a "citation" I believe you called it. You also provided me a way to supplement our state's income by suggesting that I mail the citation back with a donation of $93. I am more than happy to oblige in these difficult times.

I especially want to thank you for calling a towing service on my behalf to remove my vehicle from the road. Clearly, it was necessary to stop driving it while it was unregistered because it might have turned into a dangerous weapon of mass terror during the lapse.

I really appreciate the personal service. Most other entities I do business with merely mail to me an impersonal reminder to remit payment. Not you. You worked extra hard to make sure I had a most memorable experience when I would otherwise have been frittering away my time at work.

Best wishes for the New Year!

Sincerely,



Square Peg