In my childhood memories, the ice cream man is an idyllic feature, a friendly sort who’d swing by the neighborhood with frozen treats, cheerfully ringing his bell. Nonetheless, if the ice cream guy who’s been across the street for the past hour doesn’t turn off his music machine, I’m going to put a drumstick into his left eyeball.

Do-dodity do, da do da do, do-dotity do, da do da, indeed …