CONGRATULATIONS, YOU ARE TOO YOUNG TO BE OLD
Or: How the Republic of Texass Made a 44-Year-Old Man Prove His Pubes Were Eligible for Social Security
Jerry's Marginalia
By Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
Ladies, gentlemen, distinguished degenerates, and whatever the fuck is living underneath the refrigerator:
I AM FORTY-FOUR FUCKING YEARS OLD.
FOUR.
FOUR.
Not fourteen.
Not seventeen and three-quarters.
FORTY-FUCKING-FOUR.
I have gray hair.
I have gray chest hair.
I have gray hair in places that haven't seen direct sunlight since the Clinton administration.
My joints make noises that sound like somebody stepping on a bag of Doritos.
My body has begun submitting maintenance requests to management.
And apparently, according to the technologically advanced Republic of Texass, I MIGHT BE A FUCKING MINOR.
THE CRIME: ATTEMPTING TO PLAY A GODDAMN VIDEO GAME
Picture this.
A grown-ass man sits down at his computer.
He opens a browser game called Booty Heroes, which, for legal purposes, we'll rename The Chronicles of Suspiciously Large Medieval Breastplates.
It's a fantasy game.
There are elves.
There are swords.
There are women wearing armor designed by somebody who has apparently never encountered the concept of structural integrity.
And you know what?
THERE'S EVEN A NON-NUDE MODE.
WHICH I FUCKING ENABLED.
Because sometimes a man just wants to click buttons, collect imaginary rewards, and watch some fantasy characters beat the ever-loving shit out of each other.
But NOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
The game stops loading.
Five women stand there on the loading screen, staring into my soul like employees at a DMV who have collectively decided to take lunch at 10:03 AM.
Nothing happens.
The loading bar reaches approximately 95 percent and apparently files for disability.
So naturally, I investigate.
I restart the browser.
I fight my ad blocker, which has developed the technical competence of a microwaved turnip.
I restart the entire computer.
I clear cookies.
I open developer tools.
I stare at JavaScript errors written in the ancient language of WHAT THE FUCK IS AN XOFFERS SERIALIZER?
And after all that?
THE TRUTH REVEALS ITSELF.
WELCOME TO TEXASS, PLEASE PRESENT YOUR FUCKING FACE
Apparently, the Grand Sovereign Kingdom of Yeehawistan has decided that adults cannot be trusted to determine whether they're adults.
So now we have age verification.
Not a checkbox.
Not a birthday entry.
Not a simple declaration that I am, in fact, old enough to remember dial-up internet.
No.
WE NEED YOUR FUCKING FACE.
Enter our fictional verification overlord:
YODEL McFACEINSPECTOR™
A technological marvel developed by the prestigious Institute of Unnecessary Facial Fuckery.
Yodel asks me to place my face inside a little oval.
Fine.
I do it.
The computer studies my face.
The computer thinks.
The computer processes.
The computer apparently consults a fucking Magic 8 Ball.
VERIFICATION FAILED.
Excuse me?
I try again.
VERIFICATION FAILED.
A THIRD FUCKING TIME.
VERIFICATION FAILED.
BROTHER.
MY HAIRLINE HAS BEEN FIGHTING A LOSING WAR AGAINST FATHER TIME SINCE BEFORE SOME OF YOUR SOFTWARE DEVELOPERS LEARNED TO WALK.
I HAVE GRAY CHEST HAIR.
MY NUTS MAY HAVE STARTED A RETIREMENT FUND.
I AM OLD ENOUGH TO HAVE WATCHED TECHNOLOGY EVOLVE FROM FLOPPY DISKS TO WHATEVER THIS FUCKING NONSENSE IS.
AND YOUR MULTIMILLION-DOLLAR DIGITAL CRYSTAL BALL CANNOT FIGURE OUT WHETHER I'M EIGHTEEN?
THE THREE TRIALS OF SIR PUBICUS THE GRAY
At this point, I imagine the system holding an emergency meeting.
Yodel McFaceInspector: "We have encountered a suspicious individual."
Deputy Director Cletus Algorithm: "How suspicious?"
Yodel: "He has wrinkles."
Cletus: "Interesting."
Yodel: "His hair is gray."
Cletus: "Very suspicious."
Yodel: "He appears to have been born during the Reagan administration."
Cletus: "MY GOD. HE COULD BE SEVENTEEN."
Yodel: "Should we approve him?"
Cletus: "ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT. REQUEST HIS GOVERNMENT IDENTIFICATION."
And thus begins the next stage of the circus.
PLEASE SUBMIT YOUR PAPERS, CITIZEN
After three failed facial examinations, the system offers me a manual appeal.
An appeal.
AN APPEAL.
LIKE I'VE BEEN CONVICTED OF A FUCKING CRIME.
What was my offense?
Attempted possession of imaginary elf titties?
Aggravated clicking?
First-degree unauthorized enjoyment?
The form wants my name.
My birthday.
My email.
A government-issued ID.
AND A PICTURE OF ME HOLDING THE FUCKING ID NEXT TO MY FACE.
For a browser game.
A.
BROWSER.
FUCKING.
GAME.
At this point, why stop there?
Why not demand a blood sample?
A dental impression?
Three references from former employers?
A notarized statement from my mother confirming that I did, in fact, emerge from her uterus sometime before the invention of TikTok?
Maybe I should mail them one of my gray pubes in a certified envelope.
EXHIBIT A: THE DEFENDANT'S PUBIC HAIR HAS ENTERED ITS SILVER FOX ERA.
Your Honor, the prosecution rests.
THE 24-HOUR CLOWN CAR
But wait!
THERE'S MORE!
After surrendering enough personal information to make an identity thief achieve spontaneous orgasm, the system announces:
"We will review your documents within 24 hours."
TWENTY.
FOUR.
FUCKING.
HOURS.
I COULD ORDER A PIZZA, EAT IT, REGRET IT, SLEEP, WAKE UP, HAVE AN EXISTENTIAL CRISIS, APPLY FOR THREE JOBS, AND TAKE A SHIT BEFORE SOMEBODY DECIDES WHETHER MY FACE HAS SUFFICIENT ADULT CREDENTIALS.
And the cherry on top?
The website says it will delete the images afterward.
Well, that's nice.
That's reassuring.
I'm sure everybody feels wonderful being told their sensitive identity documents will be handled responsibly.
But here's a crazy fucking idea:
MAYBE I DON'T WANT TO HAND OVER MY GOVERNMENT IDENTIFICATION AND A SELFIE TO PLAY A GODDAMN VIDEO GAME IN THE FIRST PLACE.
Revolutionary concept, I know.
Somebody alert the Department of Common Fucking Sense.
THE HONORABLE LEGISLATURE OF ASSBACKWARDISTAN
Now, before some intellectually malnourished turnip wanders in screaming, "BUT WHAT ABOUT THE CHILDREN?!"
YES.
PROTECT CHILDREN.
Nobody here is arguing otherwise.
But protecting children and treating every adult like a suspicious teenager attempting to sneak into an R-rated movie are not automatically the same fucking thing.
There's a difference between sensible safeguards and building a bureaucratic obstacle course so spectacularly irritating that the average citizen begins contemplating whether the Amish had the right idea.
And no, I'm not saying every failure here was caused directly by the law.
The broken loading screen, the malfunctioning ad blocker, and the facial estimation failures are their own magnificent contributions to this steaming pile of digital horse manure.
But the age-verification requirement is the reason I ended up at the face-scanning circus in the first place.
That's the point.
You can support protecting minors while also asking whether the implementation is intrusive, excessive, or just plain fucking stupid.
Those positions are not mutually exclusive.
Unless your brain has been replaced by a gas-station hot dog.
THE REPUBLIC OF TEXASS PRESENTS: OPERATION THINK OF THE CHILDREN, IGNORE THE ADULTS
Somewhere in the fictional capital of Assbackwardistan, Governor Cornelius J. Buttsniffer III is presumably addressing his cabinet.
"Gentlemen, we have successfully protected civilization."
"How, Governor?"
"We prevented a middle-aged man from accessing a fantasy browser game."
"Was he a danger to society?"
"No."
"Was he committing a crime?"
"No."
"Was he even using the nude mode?"
"NO! AND THAT'S WHAT MAKES HIM SO FUCKING SUSPICIOUS!"
Thunderous applause.
A bald eagle sheds a single tear.
A cowboy fires two revolvers into the ceiling.
Somebody introduces legislation requiring age verification before purchasing hemorrhoid cream.
FREEDOM HAS BEEN SAVED.
AND WHAT DID WE ACCOMPLISH?
Let's review the glorious achievements of modern civilization.
A game that worked yesterday stopped working today.
A loading screen became a permanent residence.
An ad blocker forgot how to ad-block.
A browser had to be surgically relieved of its cookies.
A grown man submitted his face to a machine three times.
The machine rejected him three times.
And now a human being may have to examine his government identification to confirm that a man with four decades of accumulated bullshit is, in fact, not twelve years old.
WHAT A FUCKING TRIUMPH OF TECHNOLOGY.
We've built artificial intelligence.
We've sent spacecraft beyond the planets.
We've mapped the human genome.
We can communicate with someone on the opposite side of Earth in milliseconds.
BUT WE CANNOT RELIABLY DETERMINE THAT A GRAY-HAIRED MIDDLE-AGED MAN IS OLD ENOUGH TO PLAY BOOTY FUCKING HEROES.
A FINAL MESSAGE TO THE CIRCUS
Dear Governor Buttsniffer,
Dear Yodel McFaceInspector,
Dear Deputy Director Cletus Algorithm,
And dear whoever designed a loading screen that apparently doubles as a fucking retirement community:
I am not asking for much.
I am not demanding a parade.
I am not asking the government to personally escort me into the sacred halls of animated fantasy cleavage.
I JUST WANT TO LOG INTO A FUCKING GAME.
I want to press buttons.
I want to collect loot.
I want to waste my own time in peace.
And if my gray hair, my gray chest hair, my government identification, and forty-four years of accumulated existence aren't enough to convince your silicon-powered fortune teller that I'm an adult...
THEN PERHAPS THE MACHINE IS THE ONE THAT NEEDS TO GROW THE FUCK UP.
MR. JERRY'S UNSOLICITED ADVICE 🦝
If your age-verification system cannot distinguish a middle-aged man from a teenager after three attempts, perhaps the next person who should be required to submit identification is the motherfucker who approved the algorithm.
And remember, children:
AN ILLUSION IS ENTERTAINMENT. DECEPTION DESIGNED TO EMPTY YOUR WALLET IS BULLSHIT.
But forcing a grown man to audition for adulthood just to play a browser game?
THAT'S BUREAUCRACY WITH A WEBCAM.
Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
Dumpster philosopher. Unlicensed age-verification critic. Defender of the right to be old, gray, and left the fuck alone.
P.S. If the verification system needs further evidence of my age, I will happily provide a photograph of my lower back after sleeping on the wrong side of the mattress.
P.P.S. Gerald the Cactus has declined to participate in facial recognition because he does not have a fucking face.
P.P.P.S. The Paladin remains Lawful Neutral. His patience, however, has been permanently classified as missing in action.