There are a few things I miss from the South. Waffle House, Krystal, and Mountain Dew. So, yeah. They’re all food-related. Since Waffle House and Krystal are strictly Southern things, I don’t and won’t expect a branch of either to be extended to the North. But, Mountain Dew (or is it MTN Dew now?) should be served EVERYWHERE.I don’t get it. Every time I need a can of the sweet stuff, it seems to be at the one bodega that is the most inconvenient to walk to. That’s another thing. If I wanted a CAN of it, I wish myself fuckin’ good luck. That shit is more rare than a girl who doesn’t like getting treated like trash by her boyfriend. The bottles of it are in the bodegas of not your choosing. But, it’s in a can where The Nectar (that’s what I called it when my addiction to it was at its highest. It be calling me.) is at its most purest. The sweat of the gods.
So, what’s up with this slightly unintentional ban on my favorite drank? Too redneck for you, New York? Are you afraid that upon consuming the beverage, a sudden yearning to tune in to NASCAR will arise in you? After drinking it, are you afraid that you’ll start looking at your cousins in a way that is frowned upon? Will country music all of a sudden appear in your iTunes playlist after going through a 20-ouncer? Are you disturbed by the mere thought of suggesting that a Silverado is your new dream car after sipping on that carbonated anti-freeze? Will you fall victim to spastic salutes to the Confederate flag whenever you see it? Are you going to wake up to a fishhook attached to your fitted Yankees cap?
Or, maybe it’s too extreme for you. All of the Mountain Dew commercials suggest that only people who like to jump over houses and shit with skateboards drink The Nectar. Don’t worry. The X-Games aren’t in your future just because you do the Dew. I mean, yeah, it’s one of the requirements. But, you also need equipment and to practice…and stuff.
Pepsi, Co. is a New York-based company. Love the child that you birthed, New Yorkers. I know a lot of y’all think of us Southerners as inbred yokels that like to shoot at and eat anything that crawls around our trailers. But, it’s really your drink. We’ve just adopted it. You won’t become like us if you partake. I swear you won’t hear banjos right after you pull the tab forward and push back. And, you know it tastes good! So, enjoy it and suggest to your local bodega that it needs to carry it.
Hell, to keep you Yanks grounded, there is a reminder that you’re still in New York because its imprinted near the top of every soda can. What’s the deal with that, anyway? Is it supposed to be a souvenir piece for tourists? Or, is it something like a compass for y’all? “Holy shit, Vinnie (such a New York name)! We’re lost! Where are we?” Vinnie: “Hold on. Let me check a soda can real quick! Oh, good. It says “New York” on it. *Whew* We’re safe.” In the eternal words of Ed Lover: “C’mon, son!”