Terror of the frozen kind

I am deathly afraid of Ice Cream trucks. I have been since I was a kid. There was always something disturbing about a grown man with no shirt or teeth buying discounted Ice Cream and spending his nights going 5mph through neighborhoods to make a .05 profit all to the soundtrack of “And Bingo was his name-ooooo” (please allow me this one run on sentence, Thank you!).
When I moved here, I promised myself that I would give this developments mobile Ice Cream purveyor an opportunity to win me over.
It was mid July and I expected him anxiously while unpacking. The spawns, cranked at the thought of sugar, were playing in the yard. I was geared up to attempt something I had never done before. I would actually buy Ice Cream from the truck!

Wanna hear what happened? Of course you do, here I go:

It was around 7ish and I was very hot and weary. I did not have any help, as I am the Bionic Woman (and I can see through your clothes, just thought you should know). The kids spasmodically alerted me to the chimes from a few blocks down. I was breathing calmly and pacing while holding 5 dollars in my clammy quivering hand. The music loomed closer. This damn truck was playing “What child is this?” and spitting black smoke. The next song selection was a twangy “O holy Night”. It was moving at snails pace, sputtering down my street to maliciously steal our chickens and burn our barns. I was not having it. I grabbed my spawns and a pitchfork, organized an angry mob of townsfolk and ran into the house with one child tucked under each wing. “Uh, mom, didn't you say we were getting Ice Cream?” MsDebate quizically muttered. “Yes, we were girls" I astutely informed them, "but there was a tear in the space time continuum and I had to make an executive decision to forgo ONE Ice Cream bar for each of you and instead purchase you both your OWN gallon, I hope I made the right decision, lets get ready to go" (and the crowd went wild)!
I posted at the window waiting for the music to fade. It did not fade. What happened next was truly tragic and cruel on so many levels. The truck, STILL blurting Christmas music--IN JULY—and sputtering skull and cross bone exhaust smoke images, parked right across the street from me. My proud home purchase was directly athwart from one of my biggest fears. For months I had to hear this thang kick up at all times of the day and night. Peeing my pants became an almost daily ritual (God I'm hot!!). Tingles of trepidation traveled my body with each start up. This was a fear I had to conquer, and I did, as soon as his house was foreclosed on and he moved out. Why can’t there be a Circus Peanut and green olive truck?