Christy Fantz
Fantz

I like to age myself. Like with that headline.

Or with premature wrinkles from smoking.

Watch me age myself again: Juuling, Juuling, Juuling, do you love me?

Now that Juuling is a certified varsity sport, I thought I'd update that 1970 Bobby Sherman song "Julie Do Ya Love Me?" Because it's a scientific fact: Juuling does love us. The company is currently wiping its ass with 100 dolla bills, thanks to Gen Z spending its Girl/Boy Scout allowance on the vape pens.

Juul is the company-turned-gerund that is hotboxing kid's lungs. Kids these days. (Finger shake, spank, belt whip, etc.)

I shalt not preach. I used to sneak out of the A wing in high school, slip through the fence to the grocery store parking lot and share a cigarette with whoever came along. We'd roll back into class with all 30 seconds of a nicotine buzz. At age 16, we'd bail from yearbook class and drive off campus to a mortgage company parking lot and suck down Marlboro lights. After school, we'd chain smoke at the park or on the docks of Florida's Gulf Coast.

Of note: There was no sneaking in my off-campus jaunt. There were only 300 people total at my Catholic high school. I drove the only fire-engine red Jeep Renegade right past the principal's office, then right back into the parking lot nine minutes later every day. How did I not get whipped by nuns?


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Today, I still smoke. Not for the nicotine buzz. That short-lived bitch dissipated decades ago. I'm addicted; my body demands it. I'm well aware it will kill me. I know it will eventually make my skin shrivel like an old man's sack and my teeth fall out like his old lady's. (Insert graphic image here.) Now I somehow have to conjure up willpower to banish this life-sucking death stick from my daily routine. It was a habit that started in high school among peer pressure — it offered cheap thrills and a rebel rush.

Now there's Juul, this flash-drive looking gadget that can be charged on a laptop and tastes like stupid shit that should be blended in a soccer mom's sangria. The pod-based vaping stick apparently exhales less vapor than other products on the market, making it easy for people to nonchalantly suck on it and blow it into shirt sleeves. (Insert graphic pun here.)

It's Gen Y's fidget spinner that's drenched in nicotine and herpes. Apparently Juul is struggling to keep up with its production of more than 20 million pods per month.

I'm not telling you to make smart decisions, because I barely know how to make *a* decision. But I am telling you that I wish I never started smoking. It's a long road for anyone with scant willpower. And it's a short road to the party in Satan's pants. (Maniacal laughter.)

Does Satan wear pants?

Just eat cannabis, you little fuckers. It offers a way better buzz.

Parents, direct hate mail to yourmom@fatblunt.gov.

Read more Fantz: coloradodaily.com/columnists. Stalk her: twitter.com/fantzypants