Very excited today! At 4 PM I go for my new triple-tier eyebags.

I've been scrimping and saving for this operation for months, even to the point of curtailing my windsock expenditures. I had to get a second job, as a reglazer of day-old donuts at the "Donut Make You HAPPY" Drive-Through Donut Emporium. You know what my favorite part of the job is?  Taste my hand! It's still sweet, and I finished reglazing six hours ago. Which helps with my food budget. To save money, I pretty much just eat couscous and lick my hand.

I have been having a lot of difficulty with the new fashion, to tell you the truth. With the 2 jobs it's hard to find the time I now have to spend every day penciling in worry lines and eye crinkles, maintaining the grey highlights in my beard, encouraging my ear hairs to grow, putting rheum-drops in my eyes. And sometimes, when I'm in a hurry, I forget to stoop and shamble like I should. I've been wearing dentures, but sometimes they slip, and people see that I'm not actually missing my natural teeth, which is SO embarrassing. Oh, for a pure pink set of plain gums, like the very-very-harridan Milvie Spinkle-Thorpe was seen chortling carelessly through at the Premiere of  "NOUGAT!!!" at Cannes.

The real problem is that it's just not possible for an ordinary person on a fixed budget to keep up with the cutting edge of couture right now. That punk Hoofer Squills can't be a day over 24 years old, but with hundreds of thousands of dollars at his disposal, he suddenly looks like the most fabulously decrepit codger imaginable, almost overnight. I'm no expert, but it looks like he's had his back humped, a total ass removal, distressed knee and hip replacements, rheumatiz injections, and a full face drop. Wanda Limpe-Forque definitely has new wattles, and from her everplunging cleavage, I suspect she's had extensive increased-gravity treatments. You just don't see natural early droopage like that here on Earth. I hear Wiwi Norplebower was actually flown to Jupiter for a month to attain the wondrous haglicious pendulousity that was so prominently on display last month at the Glorioski Awards.

And the clothes! The price of Sans-A-Belt polyester slacks has skyrocketed. Housecoats, gravy-stained tweed jackets, sock garters, big white underpants, scuffed loafers, dingy askew wigs and unblocked fedoras are flying off the racks. Bags of cat hair and lint to roll in before you go out to dinner cost like $40, and you only get like an ounce per bag, barely three applications.

I have to shave thrice daily or I get stubble where my male-pattern baldness should be. And there’s no way for me to make my knuckles as knobby as I’d like to, although I can inexpensively accent my hand (and ankle!) veins with an ordinary blue ball-point pen. Check out this stance though: I’m proud of this. I have almost perfected my spinal S-Curve, and my chest grows more concave daily. Here’s my secret: I’ve been sleeping every night in the clothes dryer with a bowling-ball on my chest.

I hear noted FauxGeezer Horbert Morton had a murder of real crows paid to squat on his face for two months to acquire his lauded crow’s-feet. You know how much a whole murder of crows costs? I can barely afford a mugging of crows.

If I had to say which of the celebrities I personally find most stunning recently, I have to give it up to Miss Sophia Pemberly as the hottest prematurely geriatric starlet of the year. Her chin hair implants, the constellations of liver spots on her shriveled chest, the deflated and crepey biceps and buttocks, the cracked and puckered sphincter of her lips, the hook of her nose, the way her eyelids drape suggestively over her glittery little eyes, the dandruff, that sexy totter. That babe is a Stone-Cold Crone. I’m slightly engorged just thinking about it, which reminds me,  I gotta go take my Erectile Dysfunction pill. Nothing blows the look like an erection in your Sans-A-Belt Polyester Slacks.