True Story

It was the second time I worked at an ice cream shoppe. Four cream jockeys navigated in a crowded space the size of a dumb waiter closet. I was rushing around, serving up a cone of a flavor called Heaven to a lunchtime business man. I gave him the cone and his face deflated like a balloon. He held the cone away from him like it was a live animal and said,

Excuse me, but there is blood in my ice cream.

I had cut my hand on the metal ice cream casing and was dripping my plasma all over the Heaven. It was kind of awesome.

In related news.....


Daniel Olszewska has a blog called Bloody Ice Cream. She has a new book out on Dancing Girl press. I'm going to read the fuck out of it. You should too.