My family members are not patient people, particularly when engaging in any form of transport, and certainly not when other homo sapiens are within a five mile radius. Back when Dad censored his language, he called slow, inconsistent (read: California) drivers "dingbats."
So how happy was I to stumble upon Dingbat Press? Lest you think Dingbat Press is some written homage to the Prius-driving masses, those intrepid souls who drive 50 miles per hour in the fast lane on Highway 101 whilst their white knuckles clutch the steering wheel as if it is a lifejacket and they are a slightly less gamine version Kate Winslet, I share with you some of my favorite Dingbat offerings:
Let us all acknowledge that letterpress rules, and that any recipe written on a card emblazoned with a crown or two must certainly taste delicious.
Any disagreement clearly makes one a DINGBAT.