I'd just like to note here that my addiction to Mountain Dew ended at about age 24, or when I left grad school. Further, I'd like to point out that I lost 20 pounds in a month simply switching to Diet Pepsi. Even further, my addiction to Diet Pepsi, which measures in the gallons per week category even now, is supposed to be better for you. I don't count on it, but like the old smokers used to say, something's got to kill me, and I think DP is pretty low on that list.
But, I have a really difficult time drinking water unless I'm outside doing something physical, so I drink DP instead. And when you grow up with undrinkable water, well, what do you expect?
[sarcasm] I'm sure the Marcellus Shale drilling will make the water so much better too.[/sarcasm]
This article comes to us from Dothan, Alabama, from the Dothan Eagle.
Somewhere along the way, Mountain Dew has gotten lumped in with potted meat and airbrushed T‑shirts as an identifier of low social status.
I’m not exactly sure when it happened, but the sugary, high caffeine beverage is coming to be increasingly associated with tackiness by the various cultural trendsetters of our society, late night television hosts, magazine articles, etc.
I’ve noticed in recent years a sort of food snobbery developing in our popular culture. The natural foods crowd looks down their noses at the fast food drive-thru line, the latte sippers view consumers of soda as residents of Tobacco Road, and Heaven save us all from the condescension of the vegans and the wrath of their anemic fury for us wicked carnivores.
To be sure, there’s some validity behind the backlash against Mountain Dew. Dentists in Appalachia have spent a considerable amount of time treating “Mountain Dew Mouth,” excessive cavities in children and adults brought on by large amounts of soda. And it probably doesn’t help that it’s sold in 24-ounce, 64-ounce and diabeetus sizes at the convenience stores. More.
I was stuck behind a pickup at a red light. To my right was Grindstaff Chevrolet. To my left flowed the Wataga River, swift and cold. Ahead of me was a blue pickup — model unremembered.
In this pickup sat two, by the close proximity, lovers. The woman sat in the middle and her man was holding the wheel — the light was red, remember. The woman was eating something off her fingers, something that was obviously delicious, because she seemed in the midst of an orgasm. She turned and stuffed her coated fingers into her man's mouth so he could enjoy some of that heavenly concoction that had delivered her to such culinary heights.
As I sat and wondered what could it be that she licked and sucked so seductively from her nimble digits, she raised her other hand to push back a strand of dirty blond hair, and I saw it -
a can of potted meat.
I'll never forget her. She lived raw, she loved raw, and she ate her potted meat raw from her fingers.
True story.