I read something the other day that said rudeness is on the rise in society.

You got a problem with that?

Well, actually, you might. More exactly, you might have a problem from that. Because another item I saw said that some group called the Polite Society based in the United Kingdom was sponsoring a “National Day of Courtesy” because this band of goodie two-shoes held the collective impression that thousands of illnesses in their country-and, one would assume, elsewhere-are caused simply by a lack of courtesy.

Ironically, I tried to find this so-called organization on the Internet-after all, does everyone have a Web site these days? -and could not. (I know. How rude.) Anyway, from what I could gather, the Polite Society has shared such examples for its claim as road traffic accidents and psychosomatic illnesses where the patient is ignored for so long, he or she ends up in a hospital where at least he or she is treated with respect. (And just what hospital did they happen to go to, anyway?)

To all this effort by the Polite Society I can only say, “Talk to the hand, ’cause the face ain’t listening.”

Fact is, the proverbial genie is out of the bottle and he’s cursing and belching and waving obscene gestures at everyone.

Rudeness rules, dude.

The hills are alive with it, like the sound of music. Only it’s not Julie Andrews you hear, but the loud thumping of a car stereo, spewing out a profanity laced tirade from one of today’s angry young poets.

It’s in the theater, where fellow aficionados of the arts now believe that, because they paid for admission, they can talk nonstop through the movie, and occasionally interrupting the onscreen dialogue by yelling some inane comment in an unsuccessful attempt to show everyone how clever they are.

It’s at the stadium, where pseudo-fans, amidst the pungent odor of nachos and beer, believe the price of admission and wearing a team jersey gives them permission to hurl not just insults but, often, solid objects at the athletes on the field.

And it definitely runs all through the television, both the great interpreter and determiner of societal norms. Remember when Morton Downey Jr. was a novelty, somebody we watched but wouldn’t admit we enjoyed, like some wicked pleasure because, omigosh, he sometimes would scream at and insult his guests or even members his audience? Today, shock jocks rule the airwaves and Jerry Springer, Bart Simpson and Beevus and Butthead are American icons. (HeeHeeHee.Cool.)

Here’s to you Mrs. Robinson. Anne Robinson, that is. As if we don’t have enough Americans insulting one another, we had to import an acid-tongued Englishwoman to ridicule us. But that’s okay. Each week after an hour of abuse, one (that’s right, one) of the contestants at least got to take home some cash.

When we were kids, we read about Sir Walter Raleigh, spreading his cloak across a puddle in the street to allow a lady to walk over it. Today, it’s likely some driver would come up close to the curb, nearly run her over (“Hey, Miss Moron, didn’t you ever hear of a right turn on red?”) or splattering dirty water all over her and ol’ Wally.

Maybe it’ll turn around someday, and we’ll go back to a more civilized, more courteous way of treating each other. But until then, America, you just keep on scratching and spitting in public, and racing little old ladies to the last seat on the bus, and letting the door slam into the face of the next person coming through, and screaming at that driver in front of you who isn’t going fast enough for your liking, and doing all those other random acts of slobbishness that makes us such a civilized society.

After all, it is a free country. And if you don’t like it, well you can kiss my ….