We sure are living in an exciting time as our national toilet bowl begins to swirl. Many questions will soon be answered, and probably within the month. Will I perish in the plague, or the horrors that await the survivors? Will my soul be admitted to Heaven or consigned to Hell?
This is heavy stuff, so I can understand why people are eager to get moving along with the process. But still, many of us have nagging questions before we make our final departure. For instance, what is the LD for Mountain Dew?
That’s certainly not a mystery of life that I need answered, but for one couple from Kentucky, it’s the only one that remains. We all have our own idiosyncratic curiosities. Before stocking up at a Walmart in Louisville, it appeared they estimated the dosage at somewhere under 261 cans apiece.
Before they could complete procurement and head home with their lethal cargo of 23 cases (522 cans total), overbearing employees refused the sale claiming it exceeded the purchase limit. The couple became irate and stormed out with a fraction of their consignment. Suicide pact thwarted.
I believe they were engaged in what the Japs refer to as “Shinjū”, or a simultaneous suicide committed as the final act of passion by lovers in distress. Several other pieces of evidence confirmed my suspicions:
-They are attired in matching leisurewear, just like the decedents in the mass suicide of the Heaven’s Gate cult back in March of 1997.
-Despite the ongoing emergency, no other items were purchased, only Mountain Dew. This indicates that they had no plans for life after consuming this quantity of the beverage.
-I cannot fathom a mindset in which somebody would plan to drink that much Mountain Dew without the explicit intention of killing himself.
Ultimately, I believe the authorities will be too occupied with attempting to contain the COVID-19 pandemic to do much of anything about this plus-sized Romeo and Juliet. In all likelihood, they will succeed at drinking themselves to death. Truly, they are a redolent tableaux of the final days of Weimerica.
I’m proud to officially announce my candidacy for the office of Dogcatcher.
Give me a mountain, with nothing to do; give me a cold one, give me a dew.
Remember that little ditty?
Every now and again a get a slight ‘hankering’ to have me a “Dew.” My stomach always regrets it afterward when I succumb to that temptation, however. Which I guess is mostly why I rarely succumb to that temptation these days. Or even experience it, for that matter.
If it weren’t for the quarantine I might just go out and buy me one right now. I’d have to force myself to drink it to the bottom, though. Ha, ha.
Every culture has their preferred poison, but I don’t much miss the Dew. Down here with the pale Latinos of Uruguay, their preferred remedy to the cold (both the temperature and the illness) is something they call grappamiel. It’s wine that failed at being good wine distilled and sweetened with honey. It’s kinda like Thunderbird reimagined as a schnapps.
They’ve got sodas here too. Just not the Dew. The things here are also priced in a way that prevents the bulk of the population for getting all of their hydration laced with sugar. I’ve seen some homo walmarticus sized specimens here, but I’ll frequently go months here without spotting anything of that size and lack of shape.
With the way this not-quite common cold seems to speed deaths from lifestyle inflicted infirmities as well as old age, we are almost certainly going to see a lot of “our lifestyle was healthier this whole time” stotting about on the other side.
Yeah, when I spend long periods of time outside the US, I’m consistently shocked at the pervasive obesity I’m confronted with as soon as I step off the plane.
I am thankful i was not afflicted with the ‘Dew mouth.