Gus was perched on the branch of a tree by Baldhouse Park. He was about five feet off the ground, the branch swaying back and forth with each movement of his heavy feet. He snarled at the sight of the passing ice cream truck. It was so dirty and was probably filled to the brim with drugs. Gus hated this ridiculous drug town! This town had been so clean and wholesome back in the day when he was a kid. Now people were drug-dealing on smelly, probably poo-stained ice cream trucks. There were barely any kids to even buy ice cream. 

Enough was enough. Gus threw himself into a cannonball into the grass, groaning audibly. He rolled on to his feet after taking a moment or two to recover, faceplanted in the grass. Once on his feet, he started hammering himself toward the ice cream truck, which had halted. His arms were out on his sides as if he was going to give someone a vicious hug and his legs very spread apart as he moved. His teeth were bared as he came to the truck window. Spit spilled down his chin as he grabbed the ledge. "I bet you don't have flaming ice cream. "

"What?"The ice cream truck driver was flabbergasted at this. "What is flaming ice cream?"

"I want some funkalicious ice cream! Holy moly stromboli! I knew you didn't sell ice cream !" Gus was yelling and furious now. "I feel all love, peace, and taco grease for you, man but you gotta give me that funkalicious ice cream or I'm about to take you to flavortown!"