According to Wikipedia, in 1940 two Tennessee beverage bottlers named Barney and Ally Hartman invented the formula for Mountain Dew.
Below is my tribute to those two fine men:
I walked into the 7-11 and quickly made my way to the back of the store where the drink coolers are located. Immediately, I could see it staring back at me.
The 12-ounce, green canned goddess looking into my eyes.
It was screaming, “Touch me, open me, drink me down you dirty boy. I won’t quench your thirst, but I taste so good, so slippery and so sugary. Everyone is drinking me, just take me, take me now.”
I couldn’t resist, I grabbed it and jumped to the cashier and butted in front of an old lady with blue hair and a walker. I couldn’t wait.
Beads of sweat began trickling down my forehead towards my nose. The cashier looked at me like I was a crack or meth head looking for my next hit. Well, she wasn’t that far off.
Much like meth addiction, if I continue my assault on these green canned goddesses, my teeth are sure to start dropping out of my mouth indiscriminately.
She scanned the bar-code, “that will be $1.06 please,” she said as she annoyingly chewed her gum and twirled her poorly bleached blond hair. Continue reading “An ode to Mountain Dew”
I’m embarrassed, I’m ashamed and I’m weak because I have an addiction. I’m not proud of what it does to me. I’m not proud of what I do to get it. But I do it anyway.
aMediocreMan 