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187 lines
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D a m n e d F u c k i n g S h i t
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- Presents -
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Issue #50
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Date: 4/23/95
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Title: De-Ice
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Author: Vlad The Impaler
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De-Ice
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By: Vlad the Impaler
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Ok, so it started out as a pretty normal Saturday morning. Sunny day,
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white fluffy clouds in the sky, old folks sitting on their front porches
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drinking lemonade. As a matter of fact, it had started out as a really
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great day. That is, until HE came.
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I remember it all very clearly. I was sitting in a lawn chair in my
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front yard, enjoying my coffee, when Junior came running out of the house
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behind me. "Hey Dad, can I go across the street and play with Tommy?!" he
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begged.
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"Of course son. You go run along and have fun now." I had always wanted
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to be a dad, just so I could say stupid stuff like that. Junior took off
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across the lawn, and only slowed down when he reached the road.
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...Jingle, Jingle...Jingle, Jingle...
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An Ice Cream truck came tearing down the street. I never would have
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guessed one of those things could reach 50, if I hadn't seen it with my own
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eyes. Maniacal laughter rang out from the cab as it raced toward Junior,
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who was still unaware of its presence.
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...Jingle, Jingle...Jingle, Jingle...
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Junior didn't have a chance. He didn't even see the thing until it was
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on top of him. There was a sickening "CRUNCH", and he went down. The
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fucking Ice Cream Man had slammed on the brakes, dragging Junior's tiny
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body a good 10 feet along the pavement, smearing him into a bloody pulp
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on the street.
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The driver was confused. He stuck his head out the window, but didn't
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at first see Junior's head and arms sticking out from under a tire. The
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fucking truck was on top of him! He backed it up, then got out. Bending
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over, he picked up Junior's twisted and broken body, and carried it with
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him into the cab. With a final menacing laugh, he re-started the engine
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and drove off down the road.
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...Jingle, Jingle...Jingle, Jingle...
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Needless to say, I was a bit upset. An ice cream man, a GOD DAMNED ICE
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CREAM MAN, had just brutally murdered my son. Oh, I could have called the
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police had I wanted. They might have found him eventually, but then what?
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This fucking sicko was seriously deranged, and at worst he would have been
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sentenced to a mental ward. No, I had to take things into my own hands.
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This guy wasn't going to murder my only son and get away with it.. no, he
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was going to pay, and pay deeply. I would have my revenge. The Ice Cream
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Man would die. (I had always wanted to say that too)
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First order of business, I got myself a shotgun. No big deal, I wasn't a
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felon. Yet. And so, the hunt began. I looked around my neighborhood for
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a few hours in the morning, but didn't see one truck. I retired to my home
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for lunch, then set out again at around 1:00 with a renewed vigor. Soon,
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my first target was in sight.
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...Jingle, Jingle...Jingle, Jingle...
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The first Ice Cream Man died even before I saw his face. My shotgun
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pumped two rounds into the front of his truck, leaving his window shattered
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and blood splattered all across the interior.
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I went up to the truck and looked in, but I couldn't tell if it was the
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man who had hit Junior or not. Hey, have you ever tried to identify a
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man with two rounds of lead shot in his face? No easy task. I couldn't be
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sure this was the one. Anyway, what if this man had killed someone else's
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poor little kid? The fuck had deserved to die.
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It's hard to find an ice cream truck when you need one. I looked around
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my neighborhood all afternoon, but I only came across one other Ice Cream
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Truck. The man died much like the first, only this time I got a look at the
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driver without lead in his face. It wasn't the one. Oh well, my shotgun
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rang out again, bringing my kill total up to two. I was realy beginning to
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enjoy this.
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The next day, I had a bit more luck. I took out my car, and was able to
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get two Ice Cream Men before noon. After lunch, I went out again. I only
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saw one truck all evening, but I had a bit more fun with it. I followed the
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man for a while, tailgating when I could, stopping when he stopped.
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Eventually the fucker got scared, and started driving a little faster. I
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sped up too. He turned down sidestreets and alleys trying to lose me but the
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stupid fuck didn't even realize he had his music going.
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...Jingle, Jingle...Jingle, Jingle...
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Ah, I was beginning to love that sound. The driver of the truck finally
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gave up and pulled over, then stormed out of the truck towards my car. I
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did the only sensible thing a person in my position could do, and ran him
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over.
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He survived, as I wasn't travelling very fast. I think I must have
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broken his legs, because he was trying to crawl away from me behind my car..
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but as a wise man once said, "What do you do when you hit a man with your
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car? Back over him a couple times, to make sure you got him."
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...Jingle, Jingle...Jingle, Jingle...
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I was surprised to find I had made it into the papers. The headline
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read "Psycho Ice-Cream Man Killer Strikes Again". Kind of has a nice ring
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to it, eh? The article detailed the brutal murders of numerous Ice Cream
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Truck Drivers, and even went so far as to question whether or not the seven
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children that had been missing for weeks in the same neighborhood had any
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connection. Oh, the crimes were connected alright. Just not quite in the
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way the papers suspected.
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The down side to all this publicity was that Ice Cream Truck Drivers
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were becoming scarce. I had to drive farther and farther, and I found fewer
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and fewer trucks. As time wore on, they dissapeared altogether (The ice
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cream companies must have temporarily recalled all their drivers until the
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psycho killer could be taken care of).
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Life began to really suck. I drove around for weeks without finding a
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single Ice Cream Man, and I had not yet found the one I wanted. Oh well, I
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would just have to wait the fuckers out. Months passed, and unfortunately
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Winter came. Nobody buys Ice Cream in the winter. Depression set in, and
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I crashed my car one night hoping to kill myself. Unfortunately, I lived.
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Life went on. I took the bus to and from work every day, but I knew I
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wouldn't really feel better until I knew the man who had slaughtered my son
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was dead. So, like I had been doing for the last week, I stepped on the bus
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and took seat about midway back. We rode for 15 minutes, taking the
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scheduled route downtown. When we neared my office complex, I got up and
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approached the front of the bus.
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"Stop at the next street, please." I asked curteously.
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"Sit down, we're going for a ride." The driver gave me an icy stare.
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"But..." I stammered.
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A shotgun virtually jumped into his hand, from behind his seat. The
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stock pressed against his shoulder, and his finger squeezed into place
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around the trigger. He swiveled around in his chair, and pointed the barrel
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at my midsection.
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"Sit the FUCK down!" He screamed at me, his face contorting into a mask
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of rage. Only it wasn't a mask. I knew this man from somewhere, I had seen
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him before. I hate this man, my subconscious told me. Yes, I knew who he
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was. This was the man who had killed my Junior, only he was at the wrong end
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of the shotgun.
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I couldn't believe it. My mouth dropped open with the realization, and
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I couldn't move. I somehow dropped my gaze a bit to look at his gun, and it
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was identical to the one I had purchased months before, the one that I had
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slaughtered other Ice Cream Men with. I looked down at myself, tracing a
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path from the muzzle of the gun to my gut. I looked back at the driver's
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face. He looked annoyed.
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A shot rang out, and I flew backwards. I really didn't feel pain at
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first, and it was kind of neat - having my intestines splattered out of my
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body and not feeling the pain. I fell to the ground, a look of amazement
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on my face as I clutched at my bleeding midsection.
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I could hear screams echoing to me from the back of the bus. "Shut up!"
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the driver yelled. The screaming didn't stop, but the lady who was attired
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with my blood and digestive juices now held my attention. She had suddenly
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stopped breathing, and was clutching at her chest. She was having a heart
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attack!
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This struck the driver as funny. He started to giggle, but it quickly
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became a roaring laughter. It suddenly occured to me that this whole time,
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the bus driver had never stopped the bus and we had not run into anything
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yet. I guess that's just the kind of thing you think of when you're about
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to die though. Anyway, that's what I did. With my murderer's sickening
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laughter filling my ears, everything faded to black and I died, the cheery
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tune of the Ice Cream Trucks filling my head.
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...Jingle, Jingle...Jingle, Jingle...
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Find DFS On These Fine Systems (When they're up...)
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==========================================================================
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| Paradise Lost +1.414.476.3181 DFS World HQ |
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| Temporary Insanity +1.414.666.WHEE DFS Affiliate HQ |
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| Arcane Asylum +1.414.PSY.CHOS DFS Thingy HQ |
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| Plan 9 Information Archives +1.716.STILL.UP? DFS Southern HQ |
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| Arrested Development +31.77.547477 DFS European HQ |
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| Under World Element +1.203.STILL.UP? DFS Eastern HQ |
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| Shattered Attic +1.216.STILL.UP? DFS Ohio HQ |
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| Lucifer's Exile +1.513.ITS.DOWN DFS Midwest HQ |
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| Twilight Of The Idols +1.613.STILL.UP? DFS Canada HQ |
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| |
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| ASCII Art by Incarnate |
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| AE - Plan 9 Information Archives - Login: DFS (If it's still up...) |
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| FTP - etext.archive.umich.edu - /pub/Zines/DFS |
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| To submit, call Paradise Lost and log on as DFS. The password is: |
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| JINGLE JINGLE |
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==========================================================================
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