07/19/2025
Oh we do miss him!
The Parrothead Manifesto
“If life gives you limes, make margaritas.”
We, the flip-flopped faithful, the tan-lined tribe of tropical daydreamers, do hereby declare this sacred scroll of sunburned wisdom: The Parrothead Manifesto.
It is not a law book. It is not a rule book. It is not even laminated (because laminated things don’t float, and we always expect to end up in the water).
No, friend. This is a state of mind. A beachy beacon of belonging. A rum-soaked reminder that life, while often full of potholes and pigeons, can still be a cheeseburger in paradise.
Article I: Life is Short. Order the Boat Drink.
We recognize that time is but a tide, sometimes high, sometimes low, and occasionally bringing in jellyfish. But rather than curse the waves, we float on them. We embrace the chaos, we toast to the unknown, and we ask the bartender for “whatever’s on special.”
If it’s five o’clock somewhere, then that’s good enough for us.
Article II: Worry Less. Hammock More.
Why stress over spilled salt when there’s a shaker of margaritas nearby? Parrotheads know that “bubbles up” isn’t just for champagne, it’s for the soul. We choose laughter over lament, coconut bras over cubicle walls, and sunsets over spreadsheets.
When in doubt, apply sunscreen and dance like everyone’s watching, but nobody cares.
Article III: Fins to the Left. Fins to the Right.
We are united by our love for a man who made pirate life practical and beach bum philosophy mainstream. From “Margaritaville” to “A Pirate Looks at Forty”, we carry his lyrics in our hearts and occasionally written on our coolers in Sharpie.
We are not lost, we’re just on island time.
Article IV: Love Big. Forgive Fast. Hug Often.
Parrotheads are fluent in affection. We love like it’s our last luau, and we forgive like someone just stepped on our toes during the conga line. We wave at strangers, we cry at “He Went to Paris,” and we call people “friend” before we know their last name.
We believe in tiki torch diplomacy.
Article V: Respect the Earth, and All Who Float Upon It.
Though we wear leis made of plastic and drink from straws shaped like flamingos, we aim to leave only footprints in the sand and good vibes in the air. Every man, woman, and pelican deserves a little slice of paradise.
Even the guy who stole your beach chair.
Article VI: When the Volcano Blows, Just Rebuild the Bar.
Disaster may strike. Winds may howl. The blender may break. But we rebuild. We re-paint the surf shack. We salvage the rum. Because we know that resilience is just another word for partying with a limp.
“Weather is here, wish you were beautiful.”
Article VII: Always Be the Person Your Inner Parrot Thinks You Are.
Be kind. Be kooky. Be the guy who brings the ukulele to the potluck. Be the gal who always knows how to mix the perfect Piña Colada. Be generous with your time, your stories, and your SPF 50.
And remember, “growing older but not up” is not just a lyric. It’s a mission.
Final Note (Possibly Written on a Cocktail Napkin):
If you’ve ever danced barefoot to steel drums, cried into a LandShark, rescued a flamingo floatie, or given directions using only tiki bars, you are already one of us.
So raise your glass, raise your flag, and raise your spirit.
We are the keepers of the salt.
The guardians of good vibes.
The disciples of the Coral Re**er.
The barefoot philosophers of paradise.
We are Parrotheads. And this is our manifesto.
🩵
“If we couldn’t laugh, we would all go insane.” J.B.
