Over the weekend, regular Fox News personality and radio host Geraldo Rivera posted a selfie to Twitter. The rather revealing shot -- which showed everything from Rivera's signature mustache to his nether 'stache -- was captioned "70 is the new 50." He later deleted it.
The internet (the internet is just Twitter, FYI) responded with gentle-to-brutal mockery, as is good and proper. But let's not delude ourselves into thinking that Rivera's body looks anything other than sensational for a 70-year-man subsisting solely on the souls of woodland creatures he has encountered* in the woods.
**this is a lie
Of course, this is STRAIGHT OUT OF our most recent work of Geraldo Rivera fanfiction ("Mustache You Be So Cruel, My Love: An Erotic Odyssey"). Here is a faux excerpt:
Chapter 3: EAT, PREY, LUST
GERALDO gazed upon the dew-kissed lawn that was shimmering in the early morning sunlight. Somewhere, a bird sang a song. A song, Geraldo thought, of freedom.
"Good morning," a husky voice warbled, huskily, behind him. Geraldo turned, his mustache now also moist with dew.
The morning sun streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling window, which was framed in a rich ochre raw silk purchased on sale at Pier 1 a few years ago. Geraldo hoped that he was blacklit a manner most impressive.
"You are backlit," murmured the voice, "in a manner most impressive." Esmeralda Von Kuckendorff-McGillicutty sat up in bed, her deep, rich, dishwater-colored hair gleaming. Her voice was thick with lust, and with phlegm. "Geral--." She cleared her throat, seductively. "Geraldo, come back to bed."
"Oh, Emeralda," moaned Geraldo. "The things I wanna do to you..."
"Tell me," Esmeraldo panted. "Tell me all of it."
Geraldo began walking towards her softly, like a puma softly stalking its prey in the selva. "I wanna DM you." Esmeralda squirmed with delight, and also because she was sitting on her iPhone a little. "I wanna tweet you headlines. I wanna f--"
Esmeralda squealed, removing the iPhone from the bed.
"--I wanna fax you some Vines."
Geraldo's hands outlined his ripply, sinewy body. "Seventy," he growled, "is the new fifty."
"Oh, that's good," he chortled, to himself. "That's clever."
Esmeralda reached out for him.
"Actually, that's pretty damn great, he continued. Can you hand me your phone for a sec."
Geraldo grabbed the smartphone, smartly, and positioned it before him.
"Wait," he uttered. "Something's missing."
"Here," hissed Esmeraldo. "These have always brought me luck." Geraldo reached for the ruby-colored glasses she held out before him. "I got them at Claire's in 1996."
"That," Geraldo warbled, "is perfect."