“I couldn't live a week without a private library
- indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor
before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.” ― H.P. Lovecraft

Whistling In The Graveyard

Wednesday, April 28, 2004

There is an evil here in the ghetto. One that I now see I must destroy at all costs.

There is a man, a demon in human form, the most insidious pusher in the world peddling his wares on the street in front of my house and he must be stopped.

The Ice Cream Man must DIE.

Yes, the Ice Cream Man. Don't give me that fucking look, you don't have to deal with this piece of shit. Every warm day he circles our nieghborhood six or eight times, blasting this little tune that loops every ten seconds or so. The problem? He plays it at a volume that can be heard from THREE FUCKING BLOCKS AWAY. Taking into consideration that he circles every block several times, this makes for several HOURS of this fucking little xylophone tune and it's driving me FUCKING INSANE!

Yeah, I know, short drive.

Honestly though, I can't take much more of this.

It was different when I was five years old living in this same house. I used to love to see the Ice Cream Man. Seems like back then he only came by once a week or so though. But anyways, now that I'm an adult and capable of buying my own fucking ice cream the novelty is completely GONE.

Yep, one of these days, my attic window, my Lee Harvey Oswald rifle...

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