Episode 2
The Death Metal Water That Outsold Gatorade — How Liquid Death Conquered Water
What happens when water stops trying to be good for you — and starts trying to kill you?
In this episode of Dumbify, we cannonball into the story of Liquid Death, the canned water brand that looks like it’s fronting a Norwegian death metal band and somehow became a $1.4 billion hydration empire. Host David Carson cracks open this skull-covered sensation to reveal how an idea so dumb — so gloriously, unnecessarily dumb — it had no business working… actually worked.
We trace the origins of Liquid Death from a fake ad shot on a shoestring budget to a Whole Foods aisle near you, where soccer moms and punk kids alike are chugging mountain water with a side of Satan. Along the way, David explores the science of cognitive whiplash — why your brain secretly loves contradictions, and how absurdity can hijack your memory, boost your dopamine, and sneak serious messages past your skepticism.
From Martha Stewart’s severed zombie head candle collab, to pressing internet hate into a heavy metal album, to staging eco-activism like a twisted renaissance fair, this isn’t just a beverage brand — it’s a case study in how dumb can be a superpower.
You’ll laugh, you’ll cringe, you might even reconsider how you market your own boring product. Could your dental floss become a medieval weapon? Could your oatmeal be outlawed in five states?
This isn’t just about Liquid Death. It’s about why the world is starving for weird, and how embracing the ridiculous might just be your smartest move yet.
So crack a can, cue the fog machine, and get ready to dumbify your brain.
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Dumbify celebrates ideas so weird, wrong, or wildly impractical… they just might be brilliant. Hosted by David Carson, a serial entrepreneur behind multiple hundred-million-dollar companies and the go-to secret weapon for companies looking to unlock new markets through unconventional thinking. Dumbify dives into the messy, counter-intuitive side of creativity — the “dumb” ideas that built empires, broke rules, and ended up changing everything.
Transcript
I'm standing in a gas station convenience store, staring into a refrigerated display case, which is essentially capitalism's equivalent of a dating app. Bright colors, flashy labels, each bottle trying desperately to convince me it's worth swiping right for. My eyes catch something fierce, a tall, aggressively designed can featuring skulls, flames, and gothic lettering so intense it practically screams, "Drink me if you dare, you coward."
::I pick it up, expecting some caffeinated monstrosity that promises enough energy to power a small nuclear submarine. I'm braced for chaos, adrenaline, maybe even some jittery regret. But when I turn the can around, I see the words "Mountain Water". I feel an immediate, inexplicable sense of betrayal. It's as if Ozzy Osbourne burst onto the stage, grabbed the mic, and gently whispered, "Stay hydrated." Let's pause for a second and appreciate that. Plain old water, but packaged like it's ready to headline a heavy metal festival. Who decided that water needed the advertising budget of Metallica's farewell tour? Have we truly reached a point in human history where even the most basic molecule in the universe needs a pyrotechnics team and its own fan club? Apparently, yes. And frankly, I'm into it.
::Okay, confession time. When I first saw Liquid Death, I wasn't at a gas station convenience store, I was at a Whole Foods. I don't know why that embarrasses me enough to lie, but there I was, laughing out loud in the middle of a Whole Foods. And not just a subtle chuckle, a full-on uncontrollable laugh that caused other shoppers to stare and quietly shuffle away to safer aisles, like gluten-free pastas or artisanal yogurts. I was absolutely convinced this was an elaborate prank, some art school thesis project specifically designed to humiliate quinoa enthusiasts. I instinctively checked for hidden cameras or a YouTube host lurking behind the kombucha, ready to jump out and shout, "Gotcha! Lame guy in the Whole Foods!" But, of course, curiosity got the better of me. I bought one. I wish I could say I bought it ironically, but we all know the truth.
::I was genuinely intrigued by the idea of water that looks like it spent its formative years touring with Slayer. Now, here's the humiliating part. The first time I cracked open a Liquid Death in public, I found myself instinctively trying to hide the label, like I'd been caught with something embarrassing. Say, a Nicholas Sparks novel or a Taco Bell receipt at a vegan potluck. I remember thinking, "Dear God, don't let anyone see me drinking something branded like a Halloween decoration." But then came the worst realization of all. I liked it. And not just the water itself, which, spoiler alert, tastes exactly like water.
::I liked the entire ridiculous spectacle. The skull-emblazoned can, the death metal marketing, the utterly unnecessary but oddly charming bravado of it all. In short, they got me. Hook, line, and skull-covered sinker.
::Dumbify, let your neurons dance. Put your brain in backwards pants. Genus hides in daft disguise. Brilliance wears those googly eyes. So honk your nose and chase that spark. Dumb is just smart in the dark. Dumbify, yelling like a goose. It's thinking wrong on purpose with juice.
::Welcome to Dumbify, where bad ideas go to feel seen, validated, and potentially valued at $1.4 billion. I'm your host, David Carson, and today we're getting dumb on purpose with water. Specifically, with a brand you've probably seen, maybe bought or accidentally chugged thinking it was beer. Liquid Death, the water with a bad attitude and a skull on the can that basically dares you to hydrate. It's a brand that makes people say, "Shut up and take my money," even though it's literally selling the one thing you can get for free from your sink.
::So how exactly does a perfectly normal everyday beverage like water end up dressed like it's ready to front a punk rock band? It was 2009, and Mike Cessario, the eventual mastermind behind Liquid Death, was backstage at the Vans Warped Tour;
::America's summertime love letter to teenage angst and questionable tattoo choices. Surrounded by sweaty mosh pits, gravity-defying Mohawks, and bands doing their very best to look dangerously dehydrated, Mike spotted something quietly unsettling. These rebellious rockers weren't downing Monster Energy or Budweiser. They were sheepishly sipping on regular, desperately uncool bottles of water. The horror. Because Mike's brain clearly doesn't function like most normal people, his immediate thought wasn't, "Good for them. Hydration is important." Instead, it was, "Why are they drinking from bottles that look like props from an afterschool special about healthy choices? Why isn't water packaged to reflect the same punk rock attitude that these bands live and breathe? What if we sold water that looks like it could kick your ass?" Let's pause here and unpack something. Liquid Death is absurd, right? I mean, objectively, gloriously absurd. It's water in a can that looks like it should be shotgunned backstage by a Norwegian death metal drummer. On paper, it's about as logical as marketing broccoli with explosions and monster trucks.[gentle music] But the beautifully dumb truth is, absurdity sells. And stupid ideas often become genius precisely because they're willing to embrace their own stupidity.
::There's a myth out there that groundbreaking ideas need to be serious, respectable, or backed by graphs and spreadsheets so complicated they make NASA engineers break into a sweat. But history and Liquid Death is here to politely disagree, possibly with a flamethrower in hand. Sure, ridiculousness is just attention-grabbing, but it's also sometimes culturally transformative. It flips the script, redefining the rules about what's allowed to succeed. Who says water has to be boring? Who declared hydration couldn't be rebellious, edgy, or a little unhinged? By daring to answer these questions with heavy metal album covers and skulls that scream "Hydration or death," Liquid Death proves a point central to everything we believe here at Dumbify. The truly brilliant ideas are often the ones brave enough, or maybe just dumb enough, to defy logic completely. Now, you might be wondering, why on Earth does our brain go wild for something as bizarre as water in death metal disguise? Well, it turns out our minds have a secret soft spot for things that don't quite add up. In psychology speak, this is known as cognitive dissonance. But in Dumbify speak, we just call it brain whiplash. And man, do brains love them some cognitive whiplash. [metal music]
::When we encounter something unexpectedly contradictory, like gentle, life-sustaining mountain spring water inside a can designed to frighten your grandmother, our brains pause, do a double take, and ask, "Wait, did I miss something important here?" This tiny moment of confusion, this delightful little glitch in your mental matrix, is exactly what makes the idea unforgettable. In fact, Malcolm Gladwell, patron saint of turning everyday observations into TED Talks, would tell you...
::This collision
::of incongruent ideas. Actually makes your brain light up. Like a pinball machine. It sparks curiosity. Triggers memory. And compels you to tell.
::Tell everyone you know about. The weird water you bought that looks like. It tours with Megadeth.
::Malcolm Gladwell, everyone. [crowd cheering] But let's really blow open what's happening in your head when you glance at that Skull can. Your brain is wired to feast on novelty and surprise. And studies show this trigger sends a surge of dopamine into your hippocampus, the very seat of your memory and learning center.
::That dopamine spike isn't just feel-good. [man humming] It's a call to action.
::Let's go!
::Record this. Tell me more. Novel or unexpected stimuli, think that first glance at a Liquid Death can, activate two brain pathways tied to memory consolidation, one from the ventral tegmental area and the other via the locus coeruleus. Together, they prime your hippocampus to hold onto that moment longer and more vividly. Even better, this memory boost spills over into everything that happened just before and after the surprise
::thanks to what researchers call the novelty tagging phenomenon. So if you first spotted that Liquid Death can while standing in line or debating between brands of oat milk, odds are your brain also bookmarked those totally unrelated moments just because they were near the surprise. It's like your memory goes, "Well, that was weird. Better remember everything just in case." And the novelty effect doesn't just hit once. Yes, your interest may initially spike, like that first sip of edgy water, but the deeper payoff is long term. Stronger memory traces that stay lodged in your mind long after the hype fades. Bottom line, Liquid Death doesn't just look bizarre. It is bizarre. And that's exactly why your brain punishes the ordinary and rewards the absurd. It's not marketing magic. It's neuromarketing science.
::The early days of Liquid Death looked less like a startup and more like a very determined prank. Mike Cesario and his co-conspirators didn't even have a product yet. What they had was a fake ad, a jacked-up, over-the-top video announcing a new brand of canned water that murdered your thirst and looked like it had been designed by Satan's intern. It cost them less than 1,500 bucks to make, featured a woman waterboarding an executive-looking insurance guy with a can of the water in slow motion.
::Hi, I'm a professional actor, and I'm getting paid to tell you about a revolutionary new product.
::Liquid Death Mountain Water.
::For years, a bunch of marketing fuckboys have tricked you into thinking that water is just some girly drink for yoga moms. Just look at all the cute brand names and dainty little bottles. Well-[water pouring] Hold onto your hot dogs 'cause I got news. Water isn't cute. Water is deadly. It kills innocent surfers and snowboarders and kayakers.
::Every year, water is responsible for thousands and thousands of deaths. Energy drinks only kill, like, what, one or two kids? So please, don't fall for the marketing bullshit. Water is not yoga. Water is liquid death. And that's why this brand needs to exist, to finally give water the ice-cold can and ice-cold name it deserves, a brand that parents will hate but kids might love.
::Liquid Death Mountain Water.
::Made from the deadliest stuff on Earth. Please, enjoy responsibly.
::People lost their minds. The video racked up over three million views before there was a single can in production. That was the first sign they weren't just selling water, they were selling the idea of water that wasn't boring. They rode that absurd wave straight into crowdfunding, raising over $100,000 from fans who essentially said, "Yes, I'd like my hydration to come with a parental advisory sticker. Thanks."
::From there, it snowballed. They launched online, started popping up in 7-Eleven and Whole Foods, and kept doubling down on their dumb idea with surgical precision. Each new marketing stunt wasn't just ridiculous, it was intentional, and it paid off. By 2024, Liquid Death was valued at $1.4 billion, outselling brands that had been around for decades, all while continuing to look like it might punch you in the throat for not recycling. What started as a fake commercial joke became one of the fastest-growing beverage companies in the world, all because someone dared to take the dumb idea seriously. Now, here's where things get even dumber, in the most effective way possible. Liquid Death didn't just go after big beverage. They went after plastic itself.
::Their environmental campaign is called Death to Plastic, which sounds less like a recycling initiative and more like something a Viking would yell before storming a Trader Joe's. But here's the twist: they actually mean it. The brand donates a portion of every sale to nonprofit partners working to reduce plastic pollution. They even switched to infinitely recyclable aluminum cans because, quote, "Plastic is evil," which is both oversimplified and kind of effective branding. And yet, true to form, they couldn't just say that. In a press release like normal people, no, Liquid Death had to go full gremlin. They shredded hateful social media comments about their brand and pressed them into a limited edition heavy metal vinyl album titled Greatest Hates. They hired a witch to cast a hex on the Dallas Cowboys. They made a talking severed zombie head candle with Martha Stewart. The sustainability message is in there somewhere. You just have to dig through a pile of fake blood and clever puns to find it. But here's the dumb-smart genius of it all: people paid attention, because wrapped in all the chaos and camp is a real message about waste, and the packaging is just absurd enough to sneak it past our usual indifference. They turned eco-activism into an attention economy sideshow, and somehow, yet again, it worked.
::At this point, it's tempting to call Liquid Death a beverage company. But honestly, it might be accurate to call it a comedy brand with a hydration side hustle. Because while other drinks tout antioxidants and hydration levels, Liquid Death is out here collaborating with Martha Stewart on a limited edition severed zombie head candle named Dismembered Moments. It's scented like smoked clove, suede, and grandma's punishment closet. You know, the classics. Their entire marketing approach feels like a performance art piece where the punchline is always, "Wait, are they serious?" One campaign featured a grandmother getting a Liquid Death logo tattooed across her chest. Another included selling a branded casket in case you wanted to take your thirst to the grave. But none of this is random. Every stunt, every absurd collab is a calculated act of brand theater. They understand that attention is currency and absurdity is interest-bearing.
::While most brands are playing checkers with their social media calendars, Liquid Death is out here playing Dungeons & Dragons with a fog machine and a live goat. Sure, they're just marketing a product, but they're also building an entire universe, one where water is metal, humor is strategy, and the only sin is being boring.
::Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb word of the day. Dumb word of the day. It's a word. It's dumb. Use responsibly.
::That's right, it's time for dumb word of the day. You know it's my favorite part of the show, mostly because it gives me an excuse to yell obscure vocabulary into a microphone like I'm casting spells at a spelling bee for cursed children. Also, because nothing brings me joy like taking a word nobody uses anymore, slapping a fresh coat of absurdity on it, and parading it around like a prize-winning beaver at a county fair. And today's word is
::hydrocution, spelled H-Y-D-R-O-C-U-T-I-O-N.
::Hydrocution.It sounds like a rejected Mortal Kombat fatality, but it's real, and it means a sudden shock that is caused by diving into cold water too quickly. Yep, that's it. Not drowning, not sharks, just temperature-based overconfidence that can lead to cardiac arrest. So we're just going to borrow it, because in the dumbify universe, hydrocution now refers to marketing so unexpectedly intense it shocks your brain into paying attention to something you would have otherwise ignored, like, say, water. In a can with a skull on it. Used in a sentence. After seeing Liquid Death's Martha Stewart zombie head candle ad, I experienced full-brand hydrocution and bought a 12-pack out of fear and respect. That's the kinda word we like: scientific, unnecessary, and now yours. [clapping]
::Alrighty then, it's your turn. Liquid Death managed to take water, the world's most boring beverage, and turn it into something you could imagine being banned from Catholic school. So here's your dumb challenge for the week. What's your liquid death? What's one painfully ordinary thing you could rebrand so hard it scares people into buying it? Think dental floss, but it's called Gut String and comes in a coffin. A lint roller marketed as Shame Eraser, or maybe scented candles rebranded as Mood Grenades. Or how about toothpaste that comes in a glass syringe and is advertised by a fake Russian crime family? Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to pick a boring product, dumbify it until it's unrecognizable, and if it makes you laugh or mildly uncomfortable, you're probably on the right track. Post your ideas and tag us at dumbify, or email them directly. The best one wins a shout-out and possibly a lifetime achievement award in bold, beautiful stupidity. Note, not legally binding. Award may be imaginary. And that's our show. Thanks for getting dumb with me today. Today we learned that if your idea sounds too dumb to work, that might be a sign you're onto something, because if canned water wrapped in death metal branding can become a billion-dollar company, then so can your glow-in-the-dark deodorant or artisanal gravel subscription box. All it takes is the willingness to look stupid long enough for the world to realize you might be brilliant, or at least brilliantly marketable. If you've got your own dumb idea that won't leave your brain alone, or you've witnessed someone pull off a ridiculous success story we need to know about, send it our way. The weirder, the better. You can find us at david-carson.com, and while you're there, feel free to sign up for the dumbify newsletter. Until next time, stay curious, stay off balance, and as always, stay dumb, stay thirsty.
::I tried to pitch a lawn chair made of jello. Got laughed out of the room by a guy named Chet. He said, "That's dumb." I said, "Exactly." Now I'm rich and Chet's in debt. I glued a toaster to a ceiling fan Called it breakfast with the breeze. Ooh.
::You might think I've lost my marbles But I rent them out for fees.
::Dumbified, let your neurons dance Put your brain in backwards pants. Genius hides in daft disguise Brilliance wears those googly eyes. So honk your nose and chase that spark Dumb is just smart in the dark. Dumbified, yell it like a goose. It's thinking wrong on purpose With juice.
::Whoo-hoo-whoo. Whoo-hoo-whoo. Whoo-hoo-whoo.
::Whoo-hoo-whoo. Hoo-hoo-hoo.
