Ten of Twelve

Listening to the ice cream man drive by at 11:00 in the morning playing "It's a Small World After All" makes me much more sympathetic towards anyone who might rob and pistol-whip the son of a bitch. I should not have to be slamming my windows shut on a mild Saturday morning while this creep lingers at full blare to ply his bomb pops. And just what kind of parents buy their children ice cream between breakfast and lunch? I'm glad I asked that. The answer is the white trash living on the corner who frequently loudly and dramatically scream "fuck" at each other in front of their weeping four year old children. Assuage that guilt mama!

At least (as sort of an addendum to yesterday's post on Christmas' gradual encroachment on becoming a year-long holiday) I suppose, "It's A Small World" is an improvement over the Christmas Music that this same villainous ice cream man was churning out back in August. I will not attempt to make sense out of his choice in music only to testify that it is absolutely true - ask anybody in the district. I spared 30 Seconds a vicious raving about "O Come All Ye Faithful" on the mechanical tones only because the temperature was so extreme that it was impossible to hear over the air conditioner. It was also fun to think of the bastard falling over dead inside his van from heatstroke in the glowing-hot and otherwise empty streets.