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From the Rock Issue (Sept 2000):

Mysterious Eyebrow-Removing Power of Pop Rocks Revealed!

Ben Dolnick

In 1971, Life Cereal made a commercial in which an adorable, impossible-to-please little kid named Mikey devoured a heaping bowl of Life.

As early as 1978, however, rumors began to circulate that Mikey had devoured a heaping bowl of Death. At a party, the rumor goes, Mikey threw back six packs of the then-popular candy Pop Rocks, and then chased them with an entire six-pack of Coca- Cola. The resultant explosion allegedly killed him instantaneously.

This is, of course, nothing more than an urban legend. As Life, and a host of web pages cheerily report, "John Gilchrist, the actor who portrayed Mikey, is alive and well!" He even works as an advertising consultant for a radio station right here in New York...or so the Germans would have you believe.

If Gilchrist is so alive, why didn't he star in the January re-make of the famous "Mikey Likes It" commercial? If there was no exploding-kid scare, why were Pop Rocks temporarily pulled off of the market in the early 1980's?

I pursue the potential explosiveness of these damned sparkling candies by going to the only sensible and reliable source--little kids. Specifically, the little kids who play soccer and perform gravity-defying jumps on their souped-up bikes in Morningside Park.

My first interviewee, a Nike-shirt wearing, maddeningly distracted soccer-player, is so delighted when he finally grasps what I'm saying„"Have you ever lost a friend to, you know, Pop Rocks...explosion... as in 'Boom!'...those candies you get, where they sort of tingle in your mouth?"„that he dissolves in laughter, stumbling around and making noises like he is blowing up. I envy his naivete.

The next kid I talk to, a bicyclist, doesn't crack a smile. I mention Mikey and ask him if he's ever lost any friends to Pop Rocks. He gives me a look that clearly means that he understands me on levels that I don't even understand myself. He doesn't say a word, but it becomes pretty clear that he's missing some toes underneath his Reeboks from standing next to one of his best friends as he downed the fatal mixture.

For the sake of this kid--who chose to remain nameless, for obvious reasons--I decide that the world needs to know about the deadly pebbles once and for all. The next step in the exposure is verifying Mikey's death. We all know he's dead„it's just a matter of a little research. After all, if he's alive, then why can't I get in touch with him? Which brings me to:

My attempt to contact John Gilchrist--I look on "Yahoo! People Search" and find there to be only one John Gilchrist living in New York City (where the narks will tell you that Mikey works). I call him at 5:30pm on a Wednesday.

"Hello?" He sounds out of breath.

"Hi, Mr. Gilchrist? This is Ben Dolnick, from the Fed, a newspaper at Columbia University,"

"What can I help you with, Ben?" He sounds mildly annoyed.

"Ummm....is this the John Gilchrist who starred..."

"No."

"...in the Life Cereal commercial where..."

"No."

"Ummm..."

"Goodbye." He hangs up.

Possible conclusions: 1) John Gilchrist, the one who played Mikey, is alive and well, he just happens to be living outside of New York City. 2) Since the Mikey-actor is not in New York City (which is all the Pop Rocks people could come up with and try to pass off as gospel, remember), he is not anywhere. He is dead as a doornail, his body-parts strewn around the living room of whatever poor, Pop Rocks-and-Coke-serving soul hosted that ill-fated party all those years ago. Proving the second conclusion to be true is merely a formality. I feel one step away from eliminating all possible doubt from the public's mind. I just need some Pop Rocks and Coke.

I find Pop Rocks at a Blockbuster Video on Amsterdam. I take them back to my dorm-room. It being a night of the week, my roommate is passed out on his bed, mouth agape. I grab a bottle of Coke from our fridge and uncap it. I pour a couple of swallows of the brown liquid into his mouth. He gargles and stirs slightly. With only a moment's hesitation, I pour the neon gravel in, too. He swallows the mixture greedily. There's a sound that's halfway between a teakettle and one of those baking-soda/vinegar volcano eruptions.

Next thing I know, I'm living in Carman's only single and don't have any eyebrows.


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