Six gray hairs.

It is with this discovery that I've realized my body has begun its final assault against my youth, and judging by the experience of my peers it is a battle that is lost. For as much as I've denied the fact, the horrid truth is I am now old. Thirty years may as well be sixty as much as this decrepit frame is concerned. Soon I will be forced to pay 20% less for theater ticket prices and be called "sir" by pimple faced urchins serving me my Egg McMuffin meal. Even worse, I will no longer have my I.D. checked when I purchase alcohol. My only consolation is that, as senility sets in, I'll be able to flirt with teenage girls and push 8 year olds down without repercussion. A shallow comfort, but the only one I have left.


Sincerely,

S. Doog

Can you still maintain an erection?

Lothar wants to know

And how

He wants you to show him.

Fear not, Doog. I speak to you from the other side, staring into the next crevasse from age 39. True age approaches now. Gone are my 30's, and the gut-wrenching realization of leaving youth. I now look into the future knowing that I AM an adult, and it's MY age bracket that runs the world now. You have that to look forward to in ten years.

Ask your moms. They know.

Problem solved: I dyed my hair black. The same chick that's rang me up at the corner store dozens of times without IDing not only checked my ID but took it and scanned it to see if it was fake. Success! But now I remember how annoying it was.

No worries here, my good fellow!

-Snarf

No hair there either!