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Cashew Company

ATL Twins


Cashew Co

Photo: Diwang Valdez

Photo: Diwang Valdez




Sidney and Thurman Sewell open the door to their Midtown penthouse and greet me with gold-grilled smiles, daps and vodka/Red Bulls. Though known to be quite the party monsters, tonight the ATL Twins seem to be more focused on playing hosts, well versed in Southern hospitality.

While the cocktails are made, both twins are asking if there’s anything else they can offer me, Bobby Finch and Diwang Valdez.  Weed, food, women, beer, more vodka and last but not least...

“Y’all want some fucking coke,” they ask no one in particular.


Suddenly, as if someone has just lain the funniest joke in ages on the entire room, the twins begins to laugh half-seriously showing their disappointment, “Aw man, y’all are some motherfucking pussies!!!!”

You see, this isn’t the first time I’ve met the twins, but it’s rare to be have been invited to their legendary casa as the guest of honor. The VIP treatment at Club Twins comes with viral video viewing, letting both twins show off the “gnarly” messages girls looking to sleep with them send with apparent regularity. They offer me a spot on their L couch and a few swigs of vodka, straight from the bottle.

It’s at this moment that Chattanooga, Tennessee-born brothers cut right to the chase.

“The thing about us we is truly believe you only live once, so why not make the most of it and we’ve learned that and we’ve learned how to act with people that run shit,” the twins tell me on how they’ve achieved cult-like success outside of the job that pays the bills and keeps the party favors in their immaculate suit flowing. “It got to a point where we were like fuck the bullshit. All these people doing, we can do it. We have something special.”

That something special has been hard to define by most. From VICE to Rolling Stone, New York Magazine and Creative Loafing, the twins story of kids from a loving, but dysfunctional family at best, who had to watch their father die in front of them and had their virginity taken by an older woman who they described as a “pedophile” (they were 13, she was 21). There’s also the Penthouse pet breakup, their tendencies to share EVERYTHING, their ties to Harmony Korine, James Franco, your girlfriend, etc.

The twins say that often two key characters gets overlooked; the lawyer who gave them their first decent job scouting clients, and Yelawolf.

As for the former, Sid and Thurm tell me, “He paid us $200, filled our gas tank up. To us, that was a big deal. We’re telling this attorney, ‘hire us bro, we’ll do whatever. We’ll wash your car, babysit your kid – we don’t give a fuck. We’ll do anything.’ He bullshitted us for like a month or two and then one day he called us and said, ‘I’m going to hire you fulltime. You start tomorrow.’”

Working with the attorney, Sid and Thurm say they learned how to connect and work with all different types of people, from all walks of life.

With that said, it was Yelawolf who gave the twins the spark to accomplish goals outside of their day job.

Except he wasn’t Yelawolf at the time Sid and Thurm say he changed their life perspective. He was “Wayne,” the kid they knew from skateboarding with the talent and charisma to be a star. The intangibles Sid and Thurm were certain they too possessed.

“We saw him doing shit and it was inspirational. He’s telling us how he’s buzzing and shit, he’s popping on the internet and it’s like we saw it too.”

After a brief meeting with Yela’s Slumerican team, it was Alabama rapper who told the twins, “You guys are going to be fucking superstars.” And that would be all they needed to hear.

At this point, there’s a blunt going around, and with after each toke, Sid and Thurm give me a look as though staring directly into my soul helps them get their point across. Kind of like some crazy ass twin hypnosis-telekinetic power that only being this close and unique could possess. Some might be freaked out, but there’s also a calm and ease to their eyes when you look back. Deep down they’re two kids who have seemingly lost and gained the world on their way to the stardom they seek, through it all never leaving each other’s side. They are soul mates.

And trust they’re very realistic about who they are and how they got there, regardless of whether or not you understand or respect their logic. For Sid and Thurm, ain’t shit changed but the amount of media and production houses trying to sell their story.

“We’re revolutionary. We don’t rap,” they say without flinching, an intensity growing in their eyes. That could also be the cocaine they’ve been snorting throughout the interview. “We come from the motherfucking ghetto, bro – when we had nothing we were fucking bitches in New York and L.A., but it’s a lot easier now. You feel us?”

Of course I do. To pick up what Sid and Thurm are putting down also means letting their attention give way to girls who have just walked in. Seemingly on command two (there could be more, but they’re sprinkled throughout the bedroom and bathroom) of the girls head toward the bathroom.

“Ask us what favorite type of bitch we like,” they insist.

I oblige.

“Black. White. Chinese, Colombian, Mexican…”

Too easy I say, how about y’alls least favorite sexual experience?

From there, a story ensues where one of the twins got the reverse R. Kelly treatment. “She was like ‘yea I want to piss on you.’ I remember being in the state of mind where it was like, ‘cool,’ but looking back on it’s like you’re nutty buddy, baby. This bitch was fine though.”

Lady troubles aside, Sid and Thurm tell me they want to travel the world and despite their lofty aspirations for stardom, they’ve got a lot of growing up still to do, but are proud of the progress they’ve made.

“We’re down to earth as fuck,” they plead as if worried that someone else has been busy telling me otherwise. “We don’t judge anybody.

We don’t give a fuck who you are. We’ve al- ways been like that, but we’ve grown up. We’ve matured and that’s how we are now.”

And as far as where they are now in Atlanta, there’s no place like home.

“This Hollywood bullshit don’t pay a goddamn thing,” they say in closing, two eyes on the bedroom, two eyes locked in with mine. “Understand we’re not going anywhere. We ain’t gon’ stop until we get it. We don’t give a shit. Why should we?  You only live once.”