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I have a doppelgänger, I guess. Some famous broad on TV, according to most people and their ancestry tree. This has never happened to me before. I resemble the unique, impossible-to-duplicate Christy Fantz in your Pants.

Fantz

Troubles could be worse. I could be a coke-crazed millennial chasing after an old fucker with money.

This little pal of mine, I’m going to let him shine. He’s a Gen X-millennial hybrid who likes to “fuck millennials.” And the millennials like to fuck him.

Every time I see him, he’s got a pair of hardly drinking-age women hanging off his arm (dipping grossly close to the Gen Z pool). I’m not judging. He always wants me to meet them, because I’m fabulous. They’re usually nice enough, albeit using him for drinks and drugs. He knows that, too.

His last girlfriend, weeks prior to this shiny new pair of arm charms, shacked up with him for weeks and ended up stealing his money and drugs. Dude’s attractive, funny and rich, but he’s also super sourly acerbic. There is no doubt he is a privileged and affluent man (who is never, ever wrong).

As I met this fresh quartet of tits the other night, the ladies came barreling out of the back of the bar, giggling, handing him two photo-booth strips of their boobs smashed up against the camera booth lens. He looked at the strips, opened his wallet, tucked the photos away and brandished a $20 bill.

“I don’t want boobs. Do something crazy back there,” he said, sipping his beer.

“Like what? We can’t get much else in; the camera is too high,” Brunette said.

“Get creative,” he said as they snatched the $20 and ran off to their next photo shoot, giggling.

“What do you think?” he asked me. “The blonde really likes me.”

“They’re … fine? How tf do you get girls to do whatever you tell them? I would straight up cold-cock you if you talked to me that way. I hope you’re nice to them,” I said.

“It’s the drugs,” he said, a sly Grinch smirk turned up his semi-permanent glower. “They’ll do anything for drugs.”

Maybe it’s because I’m aged like a fine malt liquor, but I’ve always enjoyed a relaxing time at the bar, belly-up with good company and adult conversations. My bandwidth for strung-out drunken sailors and sailettes is minimal these days. But I’m told my damn welcoming “aura” is a gateway drug for conversation. (Next, you’ll be snorting lines off my ass tattoo.)

So I felt like a pair of toddlers were tearing around the bar as their dad threw crisp bills at them to keep them busy while he hung out with his “adult” friends. I was over it. But as I walked out, Blonde grabbed my arm.

“Has anybody ever told you that you look like Penelope from ‘Criminal Minds’? She’s totally hot.”

That was the fourth time I heard that in one week.

“That’s literally what I seriously just physically told her,” said Brunette, pointing to Blonde.

Super. Thanks. Take care.

Maybe I should squeeze some cash out of this newfound twin situation. I’ll borrow the strung-out millennials for some sort of “Penelope Porn: Fantz in Criminal Pants” YouTube channel. We’ll shoot it in a photo booth.

Oh, put your dicks back in your drawers. Like I’d let you see my dopplegängbang. See you at 8 a.m. on a We TV rerun.


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

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