The Dye-It Workshop

I have no idea whether he was involved in sexual harassment or not, but that guy Steve Wynn from Las Vegas seems to have touched up his hair a bit and maybe had "some work" done and maybe some other touchups.

Steve Wynn, né Stephen Alan Weinberg in 1942, is a casino mogul out there in Nevada, and that fact alone makes you feel warm toward him, right?  He's in 279th place on the list of the richest Americans, he's an art collector (he blew spent $33.2 million on Rembrandt's "Man with His Arms Akimbo," a wise investment if ever there was one) and up until the day last week when several dozen people came forward to tell of his ALLEGED sexual fol-de-rol, he was a bigshot with the finances of a certain disreputable political party.

But I am not here to talk about politics, or art, or sexual harassment, or any of the other sickening aspects of America 2018. No sir, I am here to tell aging men a deep dark secret that has been kept from them by their superheated egos, and it is this:

You aren't fooling anyone with your dyed hair.

You see how those letters sort of stand out in the sentence above? Well, Jack, that's how you look when you parade down to the spa with your freshly lacquered pate. 

In the first place, Wynn just blew out 76 candles on the old birthday cake the other day, and it's not normally the case for a man four years short of four score years not to be at least salt-and-peppery, if not all gray or white. And if a touch of gray is good enough for Geo. Clooney, then who are we to step out of line?

In the second place, once chemistry and science have eliminated all disease and suffering, perhaps they can look into why women below the age of 147 can get their hair "rinsed" (don't use that 'd' word) and no can tell they get it touched up with a little L'Oreal. But men who go that route might as well wear a t-shirt with big letters proclaiming "I DYE MY HAIR" on the front.

You couldn't see the words anyway for all the gold chains and whatnot those guys sport, anyway.