Oh Ice Cream Man, you and your player-piano music are the bane of my summer existence. How innocently you troll around the neighborhood, waving sweetly at my boys, with the sides of your truck covered in delightful treats. Tempting them to chase you the way a dog chases the mailman. And as if the sound of your repetitive music wasn't enough to lure all those young sweet-tooths, you actually take the time to slow down and stop in my neighbor's driveway to encourage her to spend all her sweaty stripper dollars on ice cream for her 5 munchkins just so they might stop screaming about the ice cream man!! I had just finished giving my 2 youngsters a sugar cookie treat. In fact, their mouths were so full of sweetness that they couldn't even fully articulate your name, though they were ready to chase you all over town for a Spiderman on a stick. In the words of the Saturday Night Live Church Lady, you might be "Satan?"
P.S. My neighbor isn't really a stripper, but anytime someone pulls out a wad of singles it's the first thing I think of. Oh, and if you are reading this in time, I left that $2 you handed me on your tv cabinet which might buy you one freezie pop from the devil's dessert truck.
Bwahahaha! I was standing at the kitchen sink washing up and heard his siren song through the open window, quickly shut it, then ran and did the same to all the windows, pausing only to turn the TV up past acceptable volume - foiled you this time Ice Cream Man!
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