Hey, Fat Ass!

I’m 46 years old. I’m no longer young. I hate it when people ask how old I am, but it’s only going to get worse.

So far, I feel like I’m aging more gracefully than a lot of people — without the use of hair coloring, ponytails, earrings, sports cars, and cosmetic surgery.

I’m still married to my first wife.

To the dads of several of my son’s friends, I pose this question: If you are in fact a bald, middle-aged fat-ass, how long can you pretend to still be young and hip?

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