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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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| ASCII Art by Incarnate                                                 |
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