Gray hairs and Jihadists

It becomes more and more apparent to me in the recent years that I, and by the way you to, are becoming older. This sounds like an easy enough statement to understand, it's not like it's written in a foreign language. See it all started a few years back when I noticed that some of my favorite music was now on the local oldies station. Screw That! They must have made a mistake, because ha ha ha....I'm not old. The next thing that happened was I turned thirty. Now my lovely wife is older than I am and had already passed this accursed milestone and of course, me being the asshole that I am, rubbed it in endlessly. She however took another approach and was very gracious and let me just stew in my own misery. The truth is it never crossed my mind that I would care at all, until after it happened and the realization hit me that I was now in my thirties... That's it! I'm done! Where is the Viagra and Ben Gay? I mean damn, really? Me, in my thirties. After a few years of utter annoyance, I recovered from this catastrophe, which I might add was only because of the fact that I was never offered any other choice. But now I have a new enemy on the age front. One that is as sneaky as a terrorist on crack cocaine wearing a pink bunny costume. You know. You see one on the street and think "What the hell is that?" and then the thought is gone. These terroristic little bastards breed like rabbits on fertility drugs, and will settle for nothing less than total head domination. Be warned my friends! They are gutless, colorless, sneaky sum bitches! It starts with one. One little gray hair. The next thing you know you look in the mirror and they've got fucking base camps set up in your temples! The even send out platoons to infiltrate any facial hair you might have. Now this is just to fucking much. And while this is as unacceptable to me as being circumcised by a blind angry housewife, this is not where it ends. Oh hell no! See, these little terroristic pricks aren't really the end all. They are just the first wave. The blitzkrieg bombardment. The first strike until utter annihilation! Like an island atoll after a nuclear strike is how my head may one day look. The only thing left of a once courageous battle between the forces of good and evil. A bald and barren landscape, dotted only by age spots and the lonely sole survivors of this once lush and hospitable scalp. So give it up guys. When you see an old bald man, nay, a once proud and distinguished gentleman. Know that he to has seen war. War that took place atop his head, and in plain view for all the world to see. Salute him, and let him know you care because hell, give it a few years son, this could be you. I have to go now. It's time for my next Minoxidil treatment. What's that? Do I hear Taps playing in the background?