Beach Bumming: An Indefinite Manifesto

What has two legs, chronic sunburn, and nothing but a loincloth and sunglasses to its name?

THAT'S RIGHT! A beach bum! Though I'd honestly prefer you stop objectifying beach bums. They're people too, you insensitive clod. 

Well, everyone except for whoever lives in this pretentious husk. Beach bums draw the limit at cement sandcastles and cigarette bungalows. Hmph.

Sure, there's lots of appeal to becoming a beach bum, you may say, but what about, like, life? Well, what about it? If your parents ever loved you (and just look at you... doubtful at best), then they'll be happy to let you wander around beaches nearly nude as crabs slice open your feet and the skin peels off your body like  snakeskin. Otherwise, the only reason they ever raised a child was to live off of its fruit when they grow older- in other words, they secretly believe you're a fruit tree.Assuming you're an independent human, let the completely objective analysis of beach-bumming continue at its best. If not, then... oh, goodness, the fruit trees. THEY'RE READING MY BLOG! And alive, I guess. Eh.

            The main tenet of beach bumming has yet to be created and instituted. Why? Beach bums are busy doing amazing things, like surfing on scrapped car doors and panhandling on boardwalks. A life filled with excitement and natural wonder holds no room for meaningless cultural pursuits like this "hygiene" and "intelligible communication" everyone keeps talking about all the time.

WGHZYITT? RRRR!

            What this means, is that you don't have rules. No curfew (as if that existed either way), no designated mealtimes (or permanent definition of "food"), and noone looking over your shoulder trying to tell you cigarette butt necklaces aren't art! And yet, with a great lack of rules comes... nothing, I guess. The ocean is your brother, the beach is your mother, and the sun looking down in you in withering scorn would probably be your resentful father. I mean, take a look at Lord of the Flies. They tried to have rules and they ended up burning down a forest and squashing an asthmatic kid with a boulder. Rules are another way of saying you hate asthmatic kids, and that kind of intolerance will not be tolerated. Unless you're on a beach. Because, well, there are no rules on a beach.

What's that, gravity? I can't hear you over the sound of how awesome I am.

Well, unless you're on the same beach as the Jersey Shore cast. Then the only rule is aim for the face, but I digress.