A: HEY MAN, I got some freelance work that requires I hang around until my November book tour (yes, I will post dates here soon). You know what they say—go where the money is. Well, I guess in this case, go where your parents are, and if you see some money, stay to check it out, and once you have the money, then go find some other money someplace else.
A few years ago, I was in the midst of trying to put together a book about obscure/fringe soft drinks like Surge, Jones, OK, Crystal Pepsi, and all that yazz. There were two inherent problems with this concept: 1) not enough of these forgotten sodas had truly interesting or “book-worthy” stories attached to them, and 2) I could not nail down in my mind an acceptable format for this tome (coffee table book, encyclopedia, etc). The whole thing just wasn’t gelling, and in hindsight I probably burned up way too much of my free time trying to figure the damn thing out.
Anywho, I took a job at the College Board while I was still slaving away on the soda book, and one day I mentioned it in passing to my boss. His eyes sort of lit up.
“You know, I was roommates in college with the heir to the Mountain Dew fortune.”
Yes, my friends, there is a Mountain Dew fortune, and one day it’s all going to belong to one man: Baby Dew. That’s not his real name, but according to my boss, that’s what the vanity plates on his zillion dollar sports car said. Like many children of money, Baby Dew was apparently an insufferable prick, the typical snotty ass who flaunted his wealth and made everyone else’s college experience just that much suckier.
The way my boss told it, he and one other guy roomed with Baby Dew for a few semesters. The fourth roommate was a ferret, which belonged to either my boss or the non-Baby Dew guy and was totally against the dorm rules. There was always an uncomfortable tension between Baby Dew and the plebes, and if I’m remembering correctly, things came to a head over the word “twat.”
My boss and the other guy were up really late one night, probably a tad drunk, loudly debating the correct pronunciation of twat. It was kind of a goof to annoy Baby Dew, because (as we all know) there’s only one way to pronounce twat. Baby Dew put up with it for as long as he could (an hour? hour and a half?) from his bed room until he finally lost it. From his cot he screamed:
“IT’S PRONOUNCED ‘TWAT,’ JUST LIKE IT’S SPELLED. ‘TWAT TWAT TWAT TWAT.’ WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT THIS?”
The next day when my boss and his buddy returned home from class, they found a note on the refrigerator. The text was something along the following lines:
“I can’t stand you guys anymore, so I moved out. Signed, Baby Dew. P.S. – I told the RA about your ferret.”
To this day, Baby Dew is proud of his soda connection. My boss showed me the guy’s Myspace page, and it’s all Dew’d out. There’s literally a huge bottle of cold, fresh Mountain Dew in the background. Epic.
This might not seem like the most amazing, hilarious story, but trust me, it’s way more interesting than the distribution patterns surrounding Coke Blak or Pepsi A.M.