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| https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pop_Rocks |
Urban legends play havoc with an American kids' sugar-addled brain, already heightened by the potently charged atmosphere inherent in our wildly free mix of humans. You never know on any given day what you're gonna get, because the New York City area is the capital of our whole Empire, with a new set of immigrants (refugees from your next civil war or natural disaster) streaming daily into our harbor seeking a respite from their woes. What can we do? It's messed up that your parents don't speak English to you, but that's nothing compared to the horrors we scared each other with on the playground, most of which centered around candy, a crucially important part of any kids' school day. Candy gave us something to look forward to, you know?
Myths abounded in our Gothic towns, like the pet alligator some kid flushed down the toilet that grew to epic horror-movie proportion in the city sewers, or the boa constrictor that bit a kid in the ass, because it crawled up through the sewer pipes to bite him while he sat on the toilet. Like, really scary stuff. If that didn't happen to you in the morning, you might get beat up for your lunch money, forget your homework, then get spanked for that, or you could die from a toxic candy combo that we dared each other to do on days when we were feeling a little braver, because nothing really bad had happened to us.
"Life" cereal was a huge brand back in the day, and in a brilliant counter-espionage move, some company wonk circulated this fake rumor that the child actor who played "Mikey" in the commercial had died from a lethal combination of Pop Rocks and soda, which naturally drove us to dare each other to try it for money. No problem! My mom and her scary sistas were bad enough witches with or without the soda they're all addicted to, anyway. Gimme that! And so me, my middle bro, and the Katt sisters stood at the end of our lane daring each other to try it. We each did it after no one died, taking turns feeling that weird popping sensation of mini candies mixed with fizzy soda. It was odd, like spearmint-flavored Lifesavers sparking in the darkness of a closet while you watched your friend eat one (my mom told me about that particularly fun food fact growing up), but that was about it.
Nonetheless, the madmen who created those classic ad campaigns pushed product over what was basically a childhood dare for many years, by firmly implanting it within each and every American kids' memory. It was sheer marketing genius. After that, the rumor mill cranked into overtime, when Madison Avenue spreadsheets reflected the buying power attached to false rumors. Kentucky Fried Chicken had rat meat in it, so that's bad. Don't eat it!
Spider eggs were found in Bubbalicious gum, probably because some crazy redneck working in a factory hated city kids, like that fat lazy bitch behind the KFC counter who hates us, too, or the weirdo who injected shit into Tylenol bottles, just like that crazy psycho who put razor blades into kids' Halloween apples one year: it was crazy enough to be true, just like the psychotic people we meet everyday who want to kill us for no good reason other than the fact that they're fuckin' nuts and we felt vulnerable as kids, because that's what our neighborhoods feel like on any random day. You just might die, yo.
