I'm tired of looking "distinguished"

I have some well-earned gray in my hair. There is still some of my original color, but now that I'm looking for another job, I'm starting to wonder whether or not it's time to dye my hair so I look more like the younger, hip, cool guy that I really am inside.

I know that I exude a youthful demeanor. I'm totally gnarly. I know it. I admit it. The people in my pack dig me. My troops know that I've got the hoops. I can even make up sayings that sound like someone in their 20s said them. Even if they have no meaning, they sound profound. As a great man once said, "I'm a poet. I know it. Hope I don't blow it."

Still, maybe it's time that I take the plunge and disguise what Father Time hath wrought. Today, I visited the local guy's beauty parlor where I got a complete workover, hair-wise.

Here's the before picture:

At first I thought, I'll just get my hair dyed back to its natural color. But the results were not exactly what I expected. I looked like a guy who had spray-dyed his hair, which is not exactly cool when you're trying to impress a potential employer by your youthful, natural virility:

So I went one step further and tried a complete Steve Restyling. A new doo for the new you. I liked the style, but I didn't think I looked like a convincing redhead:

So I tried a different color. By now, the fumes were getting to me and I was a bit delirious, so whatever color they suggested, I nodded my head and agreed to it. "Ssshure! Shounds great to mee!" Much to my dismay, they made me illegally blonde:

I said, let's just start over. Go back to my original gray hair and we'll try something else. By then though, I think the fumes were getting to them, too:

I was about ready to walk out at this point, but they begged me for another chance. By now, all of the hairdressers in the shop were gathered around me like a bunch of physicians trying to figure out how to save the patient. "The next one will be perfect!" they all told me:

Although I did agree that I looked great, and would doubtless impress any potential employer with my eager, youthful looks, I couldn't help but think that things had gone too far. But by now my original hair was so over-chemicalized, it was falling out in clumps. (I just made up a word. I am allowed to do that. Don't mess with me, I've got a license to write, and I'll use it.")

So, here you have it. The solution to gray hair. A new, youthful-looking  me at your service. To all potential employers, I say, "I am ready to work at super affordable act-now prices." The sooner the better, because my wife took one look at me when I got home, screamed, tossed my clothes out the front door, and I'm now living under a bridge. It's interesting how many bald, unemployed guys you find living under bridges these days. I'm making friends I never expected to make when I was working. Good times.