Ice Cream In an abandoned storeroom a child clutches at the necks of his two subdued friends and uses them as stilts. He hobbles around on his stiff, miserable "legs" and beams brightly in the dark. "Daddy knows I like ice-cream the BEST," the child squeals, lumbering like a golem of sewn- together corpses. Daddy stands flattened against a wall, terrified. An eel made of ice cream cones with a strawberry ice-cream head wielding a watery glass eye twists around Daddy's neck and hisses, "Is thisss true?" Daddy tries hard to think as the eel stares menacingly at his pallid face and drips strawberry liquid on his suit. "It's a difficult story to tell, " Daddy begins, "In our neighborhood there was a transvestite Christmas-tree salesman named Chuck Olympia. He was a known drug-dealer and child- molester. He spent days at a time in the town wreckyard, amongst towering structures of bent metal and rust. He fashioned intricate fortresses from the bodies of ruined cars. We in the town knew he could not be defeated, so we kept our children indoors and canceled Christmas every year. We declared everything that was not already mandatory to now be illegal."