I am an avid smoker.

If we’re being honest (and aren’t all publications honest?), I go through about 10 cigarettes a day. Therefore, it may surprise many of you that I’m writing to talk about the dangers of smoking.

We have all heard the cigarette-smoke-will-blacken-your-lungs-give-you-cancer-and-have-deformed-babies argument 5,043 times. I try to act utterly surprised when someone comes up to me telling me that smoking is harmful for me. While I appreciate your concern, I can clearly read the health effects on the side of the box. Indeed, I know what I’m putting in my body.

I think people could make a much greater case if they talked about the immediate, negative affects of smoking cigarettes, cigars and *achem* other things.

First, I have a hole the size of a silver dollar in my jacket. It’s not a fashion statement; I purchased the jacket sans-crater.

I was walking to class the other day, and gave my friend a hug on the Boulevard. I accidentally shed my cigarette (for those of you who don’t know what this means, ask someone with a cigarette sticking out of their mouth), and thought that the smoldering tobacco just fell to the ground.

I walked into my class and smelt something burning. There, on my arm, was a hole, increasing in size with orange light emitting from the edges. I had caught my arm on fire.

I ran to the bathroom to put the mini-campfire out and then returned to the classroom uttering a few choice words under my breath.

So, that’s number one — cigarettes make your clothes look like swiss cheese.

Another story comes about because of the massive collection of lighters I now have.

I used to use a Zippo in an attempt to be classy and sophisticated while lighting up. That went out the window right after I lost my lighter in my mother’s couch cushions (thought I’m almost certain she just stole it from me).

Now, I resort to purchasing 99 cent Bic lighters from the 7-Eleven across the street. Of course, I almost always mistake the lighter for chap-stick every morning before I walk out of the door and then have to buy yet another lighter from 7-Eleven. I’ve compiled quite the collection.

The other day, a friend walked into my room, looked directly at my nightstand and stared with eyes the size of large walnuts. When I asked her what was wrong, she asked if I had an issue with flames.

I looked, laughed and then explained to her that I buy a new lighter about once a week because I always leave mine in my room. She has not been back since.

So there’s danger number two — friends will think you’re a pyromaniac and abandon you forever.

I guess with all of these negative things that come from smoking one would think I would quit. Of course, my argument is that I met my last lover while smoking so I’m hoping to have that happen again.

But who knows? Maybe when I have kids I’ll finally quit.

Or, maybe when I run out of jackets.

Michael is a sophomore majoring in communications studies and religious studies.