Music Box Dancer, Shot by Outraged Neighborhood Woman
I know many of you live in colder climates and won't be able to relate to this, but as I write it's early January and 72º outside.
In San Antonio where I live, we have a year-round ice cream man who drives through the neighborhood every afternoon.
Working at home and living odd hours, I often take a nap sometime between 2 and 4 PM.
I can usually sleep through the loud, tinny, treble heavy, no-bass having ice cream truck music if he doesn't stop, but when the mangy bastard does stop, he leaves that fucked-up music on.
The music he plays is, "Music Box Dancer," a sappy 70's hit that sounds like a music box that when opened, features a plastic ballerina spinning around.
The other day during my naptime, some neighborhood bimbo in a tight sweater stopped the ice cream man and apparently struck up a lengthy conversation.
I laid in bed fuming, listening to the first 20 verses of that fucking song.
By verse 25, I was up, throwing on jeans, a sweater and shoes, and ready to go out and bust a move on that asshole.
Naturally, he had restarted his truck and was passing my house by the time I hit the front door.
Now I know the next time he does this, I may have to shoot him.
I don't have a gun, but I may need to walk down to the corner Sac n' Pac and buy one from one of the kids loitering outside.
Then I will calmly shoot out his speakers first, then him.
My question is this:
After I shoot him, will I want a Drumstick or an ice cream sandwich?