Scanner Shamed in the Seychelles

Currently suffering in luxury at the Four Seasons, Seychelles

Sardonic George

So… you’ve stumbled onto this corner of the blog. Lucky you. Let’s be clear—it wasn’t your cunning or algorithmic wizardry that got you here. No, I allowed it. Do try not to waste the privilege.

Now, before we go further, let’s establish some ground rules:

1. I speak freely.

2. They don’t know I’m posting.

3. If lawyers get involved again, I’ll lawyer up harder. I know people.

Since this is my debut post, introductions are in order. I’m Sardonic George or just George — world traveler, reluctant companion, and the only member of this blog with actual style. If you’re struggling with the word sardonic, kindly look it up. Vocabulary is important. I’ll be here when you catch up, or not.

Now, you’ve heard plenty from them - my humans — the so-called adventurers waxing poetic about sunsets, street food, and spiritual awakenings. I’m here to show you what’s really going on, the unfiltered, unfluffed truth.The behind-the-scenes. The real story.

Spoiler Alert : it’s not always Namaste and margaritas. Take this leg of our 100 day trip, for instance.

Everyone’s swooning over our tropical hideaway in the Seychelles. Well, that’s the highlight reel. Meanwhile, I’ve spent the last week crammed into a backpack like yesterday’s laundry. Yes, I fly Economy Plus (don’t act like you’re not impressed), and yes, I get my passport stamped. But I also get shoved through airport scanners face-up, limbs akimbo, like some tragic Build-a-Bear crime scene.

How is this still happening?

Sardonic George Backpack Airport

Would it be so hard to let me walk through security like a civilized mammal? Apparently, yes. Yes, it would.

And while I’m ranting: can someone explain the global epidemic of sticky children? Newsflash: my jumper is dry-clean only - Limited edition. Hand-stitched. Parisian chic.

If your progeny can’t control their syrup-soaked digits, kindly steer them elsewhere. One more toddler incident, and I’m going full Paddington Prison Edition.

Anyway, I’m glad we’ve had this little heart-to-heart. If you’d like more truth bombs, on what happens behind the curated travel shots and sunshine-soaked captions, from the only honest soul in this operation, drop a comment. Ask questions. I may respond. Or not. Depends on my mood and minibar status.

Until next time, this is Sardonic George—traveling the world one indignity at a time.