Death to Decorum: Soapbox at Full Sail

So there I was this weekend, knee-deep in a doom-scroll spiral, holed up in my cabin by day like a lizard under a rock, and knocking out boat chores by night to dodge the Panama heat. My phone was welded to my hand like an IV drip of bad decisions. You know how it goes: one second you’re watching a cat bang out Chopin on a Fisher-Price keyboard, the next you’re refereeing a comment war between “Flat Earth Steve” and “Moon Landing Karen.”

Threads, X, TikTok… at this point they’re less “social media” and more “digital porta-potties at Coachella” — you don’t want to peek inside, but you do, and every once in a while you stumble across a raccoon in a crop top with Wi-Fi.

Somewhere along the line, “do whatever you want” got rebranded as “decency is optional.” Remember decorum? It was like social WD-40: invisible, but it kept everything moving without squeaks. Sure, if you’re 6'5" and 250 pounds, you can cut the line at McDonald’s, Target, or the movies — nobody’s going to arrest you. But as a society, we all agreed that kind of thing was out of bounds. It’s not illegal; it’s just understood. Let’s call it "Decorum 101" — or, put more simply, being good and helpful to others the way I’d like them to be to me. You know, like not double-dipping your chip in the guac unless you want to be exiled from the Super Bowl party forever.

Look at the Honey Boo Boos, “Catch Me Outside Girl,” Snooki, The Octomom, The Hiltons, Kardashians, Chrisleys. None of these folks were rocket scientists, but they stumbled into fame like drunks into a fountain and somehow they became cultural mile markers. Vain and vapid became “cool.” The whole circus feels like Ripley’s Believe It or Not — “Step right up, folks, see the world’s largest hairball and the man who legally married a toaster!”

But wait, there’s more: the pranksters, the OnlyFans “Models,” the people who actually put “influencer” on a tax return. These aren’t happy accidents; these are vanity Frankenstein monsters stitched together from ring lights, lip fillers, and sheer shamelessness. Whole careers built on little more than waking up, logging on, and existing loud enough to be noticed — the very definition of vain and vapid, as hollow as an empty conch shell, all the while flashing their money and luxury lifestyles in people’s faces as if it were some kind of deserved existence. Fortunately, they’ve got the same long-term value as a TikTok trend about buttered corn — catchy for thirty seconds, then gone, leaving nothing behind but grease on your fingers. They’re cultural Pop Rocks: loud, fizzy, and guaranteed to vanish before you even swallow. Meanwhile, I’m ranting about it on Facebook like that makes me better. Joke’s probably on me.

Then we’ve got the everyday offenders. You know them: the door-ignorer who lets it slam in your face, the human glacier with 87 items in the express line, the public-speakerphone guy narrating his hemorrhoid cream order, the driver who abandons their shopping cart in the last open parking spot like it’s their emotional support animal. And the traffic kamikazes — cutting across three lanes without a blinker like they’re auditioning for Fast & Furious 12: Minivan Drift. Don’t even get me started on TikTok challenges — civilization is circling the drain when people are break-dancing on the hood of a moving Honda Civic in rush hour because the algorithm told them to.

And not to get political, but let’s address the spray-tanned elephant in the room. He is basically a live-action cartoon — loud, audacious, tailor-made for reality TV. And honestly, was pretty entertaining prior to delving into politics. Not only did he own his brashness with pride, he embraced it and then cashed in like a guy selling bootleg T-shirts in the stadium parking lot. Regardless of your politics, we can all agree that rare is the moment when he’s displayed even a molecule of verbal decency. The man treats courtesy like a toddler treats broccoli — dramatic faces, loud protest, and maybe hurling it across the room. If Miss Manners and Godzilla had a love child, it would stomp through press conferences exactly like this.

I’m not talking policy here — this isn’t the time or the place. And for that matter, can we all agree Facebook isn’t the place for internet slap-fights disguised as “discourse”? It’s supposed to be a digital carnival ride — not a venue to hand out debate trophies like someone just won the ring toss. (Get it? Nobody ever wins the ring toss.) 😂

Meanwhile, where are the Malalas, the Jane Goodalls, the Mr. Rodgers, the Dalai Lamas? Humans whose voices radiate actual decency, like moral lighthouses in a fog of stupidity. Shouldn’t we be throwing parades for them instead of giving spin-offs to the Real Housewives of Whatever County?

Maybe we’ve bubble-wrapped the planet so tightly that natural selection can’t even find a way in. We’ve outlawed lawn darts, mandated seatbelts, and now you need a warning label that says “Do Not Ingest” on bleach. Do we really need signs that say “Don’t Stick Your Hand in the Lion Enclosure” or “Do Not Iron Clothes While Wearing Them”? Let Darwin dust off his clipboard; he’s got work to do.

And can we all agree — if you lost your savings in Hawk Tuah Girl’s Cryptocurrency scheme… congratulations, you’ve officially donated to the Darwin Research Fund. I’m not calling for an annual purge, but let’s be honest: the lowest common denominator of humans is dragging us all down like an anchor tied to a pool noodle. Do we really want a 20-year-old who once did the Tide Pod Challenge behind the wheel of an 18-wheeler, driving a school bus, or flying a plane?

At some point, we’ve got to let nature take its course — and if that means a few folks Tide Pod themselves into the history books, maybe that’s just evolution taking attendance. I’m kidding… obviously. 🙄

All I’m saying is, let’s not turn this planet into a live-action remix of “1984” and “Idiocracy.” What’s next — “Spicoli for President 2028”? Although that’s probably a dated reference for the younger folks — “Druski for President 2028”. We are basically living in that trailer now.

Okay. Feels nice to get that out. Deep breath. Back to thoughts of sailing! Wait a minute, did I just become the “Hey, you kids, get off my lawn” guy now? Or the “In my day…” guy? I’m only 50! 😂

Anyway, I’ll be over here yelling at clouds with Werther’s Original Unwrapped Candies in my pocket.

#curmudgeon #kidsthesedayz #whatsthisworldcomingto