By Michael Kelman Portney

Alright, let’s get this straight—I’ve only dabbled in the white powdery arts maybe a hundred times. Low hundreds, tops. So consider me your casual connoisseur, your Diet Coke of cocaine users.

Recent reporting shows that each cigarette you smoke chops twenty minutes off your life. Makes you wonder what a line of cocaine does. Is it like chugging a can of life expectancy? If those cancer sticks are picking your pocket of time, what does the occasional snow day heist from your biological bank?

Let’s break down the absurdity, shall we? You've got cigarettes, those smoldering little life leeches, and then there's cocaine. If puffing on a Marlboro is like slowly leaking air from a tire, then a line of blow is like slashing that tire with a switchblade—quick, intense, and damn, what a rush.

But here’s the kicker: the hypocrisy. Smoke a cigarette, and society frowns, shaking their collective heads as they pass you on the street. Whip out a baggie, and you’re either a cautionary tale or a party legend, no in-between. It's the VIP treatment in the world of vices, even if you’re just a part-timer like me.

So, what’s the death toll from my “Diet Coke” days of cocaine use? If I’ve danced with the devil in the pale moonlight just a hundred-ish times, does that make me a risk-taker or just someone who knows how to party responsibly?

At the end of the day, whether you’re smoking cigarettes or hitting the slopes, we’re all just trying to navigate this minefield called life without blowing ourselves up too spectacularly. And while I might not be ready to swear off my occasional snowy indulgence just yet, I’m also not planning to turn it into a full-blown blizzard.

Remember, life's a party, and moderation is the bouncer. Keep it light, keep it sporadic, and maybe—just maybe—you won’t have to pay the piper more than you bargained for. After all, isn’t life all about finding that sweet spot between being a saint and a sinner?