The Ice Cream Man

The Ice Cream Man: I hate him. He is scum of the Earth and a pain in my keester. I can't prove it, but I'm fairly certain that he may be the principle reason why Al-Queda hates us.

Every day, since it's gotten warm, this guy strolls through my neighborhood at a leisurely 3mph, blasting his music and causing my kids to go nuts. "Ice Cream Man! Ice Cream Man! Ice Cream Man!" they shout, spazzing about like chimps at feeding time. It doesn't matter even if they're already eating ice cream. This guy has them conditioned like Pavlov's dogs.

So he rolls down my street, blaring his call, like a Siren from Greek mythology. He does this every stinking day. If he did it once a week, I'd probably be cool with it. I'll spring for ice cream once a week. But he does it EVERY DAY, so inevitably my kids are devastated when I let him pass. Now I'm the jerk, and I hate that.

I'm not one of those dolts who, about something he dislikes, says "There should be a law against that." In fact, I think that the problem with my ice cream man should not be solved by passing any new laws. Actually, I think that certain laws, like those restricting homicide to circumstances involving self-defense or defense of another, should be relaxed. Uncle Ron (the ice cream man) would be far less apt to harass me and my family if it meant having to pick birdshot out of his face every time he hit my neighborhood.