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            D  a  m  n  e  d     F  u  c  k  i  n  g     S  h  i  t 
 
                                  - Presents - 
 
                              Issue #50 
                              Date: 4/23/95 
                              Title: De-Ice 
                              Author: Vlad The Impaler 
 
                                   De-Ice 
                            By: Vlad the Impaler 
     
    Ok, so it started out as a pretty normal Saturday morning.  Sunny day, 
white fluffy clouds in the sky, old folks sitting on their front porches  
drinking lemonade.  As a matter of fact, it had started out as a really  
great day.  That is, until HE came. 
    I remember it all very clearly.  I was sitting in a lawn chair in my  
front yard, enjoying my coffee, when Junior came running out of the house  
behind me. "Hey Dad, can I go across the street and play with Tommy?!" he  
begged. 
    "Of course son.  You go run along and have fun now."  I had always wanted 
to be a dad, just so I could say stupid stuff like that.  Junior took off  
across the lawn, and only slowed down when he reached the road.   
...Jingle, Jingle...Jingle, Jingle... 
    An Ice Cream truck came tearing down the street.  I never would have  
guessed one of those things could reach 50, if I hadn't seen it with my own 
eyes.  Maniacal laughter rang out from the cab as it raced toward Junior, 
who was still unaware of its presence. 
...Jingle, Jingle...Jingle, Jingle... 
    Junior didn't have a chance.  He didn't even see the thing until it was  
on top of him.  There was a sickening "CRUNCH", and he went down.  The 
fucking Ice Cream Man had slammed on the brakes, dragging Junior's tiny 
body a good 10 feet along the pavement, smearing him into a bloody pulp 
on the street. 
    The driver was confused.  He stuck his head out the window, but didn't 
at first see Junior's head and arms sticking out from under a tire.  The  
fucking truck was on top of him!  He backed it up, then got out.  Bending 
over, he picked up Junior's twisted and broken body, and carried it with 
him into the cab.  With a final menacing laugh, he re-started the engine 
and drove off down the road. 
...Jingle, Jingle...Jingle, Jingle... 
    Needless to say, I was a bit upset.  An ice cream man, a GOD DAMNED ICE 
CREAM MAN, had just brutally murdered my son.  Oh, I could have called the 
police had I wanted.  They might have found him eventually, but then what? 
This fucking sicko was seriously deranged, and at worst he would have been  
sentenced to a mental ward.  No, I had to take things into my own hands.   
This guy wasn't going to murder my only son and get away with it.. no, he  
was going to pay, and pay deeply.  I would have my revenge.  The Ice Cream 
Man would die.  (I had always wanted to say that too) 
    First order of business, I got myself a shotgun.  No big deal, I wasn't a 
felon.  Yet.  And so, the hunt began.  I looked around my neighborhood for 
a few hours in the morning, but didn't see one truck.  I retired to my home 
for lunch, then set out again at around 1:00 with a renewed vigor.  Soon,  
my first target was in sight. 
...Jingle, Jingle...Jingle, Jingle... 
    The first Ice Cream Man died even before I saw his face.  My shotgun  
pumped two rounds into the front of his truck, leaving his window shattered  
and blood splattered all across the interior. 
    I went up to the truck and looked in, but I couldn't tell if it was the 
man who had hit Junior or not.  Hey, have you ever tried to identify a  
man with two rounds of lead shot in his face?  No easy task.  I couldn't be  
sure this was the one.  Anyway, what if this man had killed someone else's  
poor little kid?  The fuck had deserved to die. 
    It's hard to find an ice cream truck when you need one.  I looked around 
my neighborhood all afternoon, but I only came across one other Ice Cream  
Truck.  The man died much like the first, only this time I got a look at the 
driver without lead in his face.  It wasn't the one.  Oh well, my shotgun  
rang out again, bringing my kill total up to two.  I was realy beginning to 
enjoy this. 
    The next day, I had a bit more luck.  I took out my car, and was able to 
get two Ice Cream Men before noon.  After lunch, I went out again.  I only 
saw one truck all evening, but I had a bit more fun with it.  I followed the  
man for a while, tailgating when I could, stopping when he stopped.   
Eventually the fucker got scared, and started driving a little faster.  I  
sped up too.  He turned down sidestreets and alleys trying to lose me but the 
stupid fuck didn't even realize he had his music going. 
...Jingle, Jingle...Jingle, Jingle... 
    Ah, I was beginning to love that sound.  The driver of the truck finally 
gave up and pulled over, then stormed out of the truck towards my car.  I  
did the only sensible thing a person in my position could do, and ran him  
over.   
    He survived, as I wasn't travelling very fast.  I think I must have  
broken his legs, because he was trying to crawl away from me behind my car.. 
but as a wise man once said, "What do you do when you hit a man with your 
car?  Back over him a couple times, to make sure you got him." 
...Jingle, Jingle...Jingle, Jingle... 
    I was surprised to find I had made it into the papers.  The headline 
read "Psycho Ice-Cream Man Killer Strikes Again".  Kind of has a nice ring 
to it, eh?  The article detailed the brutal murders of numerous Ice Cream 
Truck Drivers, and even went so far as to question whether or not the seven  
children that had been missing for weeks in the same neighborhood had any  
connection.  Oh, the crimes were connected alright.  Just not quite in the  
way the papers suspected. 
    The down side to all this publicity was that Ice Cream Truck Drivers  
were becoming scarce.  I had to drive farther and farther, and I found fewer 
and fewer trucks.  As time wore on, they dissapeared altogether (The ice  
cream companies must have temporarily recalled all their drivers until the 
psycho killer could be taken care of).   
    Life began to really suck.  I drove around for weeks without finding a 
single Ice Cream Man, and I had not yet found the one I wanted.  Oh well, I  
would just have to wait the fuckers out.  Months passed, and unfortunately 
Winter came.  Nobody buys Ice Cream in the winter.  Depression set in, and  
I crashed my car one night hoping to kill myself.  Unfortunately, I lived.   
    Life went on.  I took the bus to and from work every day, but I knew I  
wouldn't really feel better until I knew the man who had slaughtered my son 
was dead.  So, like I had been doing for the last week, I stepped on the bus 
and took seat about midway back.  We rode for 15 minutes, taking the  
scheduled route downtown.  When we neared my office complex, I got up and 
approached the front of the bus.  
    "Stop at the next street, please." I asked curteously. 
    "Sit down, we're going for a ride."  The driver gave me an icy stare. 
    "But..." I stammered. 
    A shotgun virtually jumped into his hand, from behind his seat.  The  
stock pressed against his shoulder, and his finger squeezed into place  
around the trigger.  He swiveled around in his chair, and pointed the barrel 
at my midsection. 
    "Sit the FUCK down!" He screamed at me, his face contorting into a mask 
of rage.  Only it wasn't a mask.  I knew this man from somewhere, I had seen 
him before.  I hate this man, my subconscious told me.  Yes, I knew who he  
was.  This was the man who had killed my Junior, only he was at the wrong end 
of the shotgun. 
    I couldn't believe it.  My mouth dropped open with the realization, and 
I couldn't move.  I somehow dropped my gaze a bit to look at his gun, and it 
was identical to the one I had purchased months before, the one that I had 
slaughtered other Ice Cream Men with.  I looked down at myself, tracing a  
path from the muzzle of the gun to my gut.  I looked back at the driver's  
face.  He looked annoyed. 
    A shot rang out, and I flew backwards.  I really didn't feel pain at  
first, and it was kind of neat - having my intestines splattered out of my 
body and not feeling the pain.  I fell to the ground, a look of amazement 
on my face as I clutched at my bleeding midsection.   
    I could hear screams echoing to me from the back of the bus.  "Shut up!"  
the driver yelled.  The screaming didn't stop, but the lady who was attired  
with my blood and digestive juices now held my attention.  She had suddenly 
stopped breathing, and was clutching at her chest.  She was having a heart 
attack!   
    This struck the driver as funny.  He started to giggle, but it quickly 
became a roaring laughter.  It suddenly occured to me that this whole time,  
the bus driver had never stopped the bus and we had not run into anything  
yet.  I guess that's just the kind of thing you think of when you're about  
to die though.  Anyway, that's what I did.  With my murderer's sickening  
laughter filling my ears, everything faded to black and I died, the cheery  
tune of the Ice Cream Trucks filling my head. 
...Jingle, Jingle...Jingle, Jingle... 
 
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