Someone Tell Dave He’s Driving a Functional Ice Cream Truck


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About once every day around 3 PM—which I realize is after school hours—and always when I’m passing through some random neighborhood, a throng of children starts chasing me. A different crowd each time, their little arms flailing, screaming out of their toothless mouths. I don’t know what these kids are yelling, because I’m deaf. I don’t know why they’re so overwhelmed with emotion or why they’re running so fast. It’s really fucking scary.

Sometimes, they bang on the side of my truck, the side with all the colorful pictures of ice cream on it. When I bought this vehicle, I thought those pictures were pretty neat decoration. An already-decorated truck? More bang for my buck. But now I’m just regretting my purchase, because these kids won’t stop freaking out over my truck and they won’t leave me alone.

What’s happening? Why are they following me? Is it my truck, or is it me? Is there something wrong with me? HOW do they keep finding me?

Seriously, I’ve driven through 20 states and countless towns. I’m too scared to leave my vehicle, so I’ve just been driving and driving, getting chased out of every town in the U.S. by pesky and extraordinarily athletic schoolkids.

I haven’t seen my family in 3 months. I just want to see my wife Marcia and our dogs Nancy and Joe. I need a shower. I need to shave.

Get me out of my living hell.

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