The Ice Cream Man is Stealing My WiFi.

The Ice Cream Man Is Stealing Our WiFi.

      The ice cream man is stealing our WiFi. His van passes by late at night, stealthily, the jingle songs echoing throughout the High Desert luring defenseless kids away from their bedtimes. The last and only time I bought stuff from this ice cream man, on a different street than now, I never got a good look at the inside of the van to see if he was in reality the one stealing my WiFi. His hours in the summer are from five to eight o'clock p.m. And the only window to possibly see in is where the guy sticks half of his body out to take orders. His belly drooping over the side of the ice cream van. The windshield is foggy and there's a curtain dividing the front and back. I can hear the fans moaning away on the servers inside. At the top of the van is a cluster of antenna's and small satellite receivers and transmitters of various old relic brands and models. I know for certain this is the man trying to do something he'll regret.

      This guy, as he drives by, tries to intimidate me, staring me down to get me to catch the fear bug and run away whenever I see him. But I won't run. He has been doing this drive by nonsense everyday now for two weeks. He knows something about me, what I have, what I just recently added to my home. But how does he know something like that if he can barely keep his van from puttering out and dying on the side of the road. It doesn't appear advanced or technologically sound.

     My suspicion is that this guy is trying to get at my Bitcoin wallet, (with a hefty amount), through my WiFi, any backdoor he may find, (not going to happen). Inside my small one story home, in 90% of my living space, is miners working nonstop to rake in the coins. It's a fact that this entire block, and those around us in a specific range, are equipped with household bitcoin miners. Not at the amount I have built or at the level of sophistication my miners are, but at a modest size for smaller necessities, like groceries, or gas; never can bitcoin be used for home bills and medical coverage, that you have to work tirelessly for. But this BitCoin thing has become my new business, how I make a living at such a young age. And now this guy in his busted van, jingles blaring we all scream for ice cream, nonchalantly shows up and starts driving around my neighborhood, daring to attack me!

      I take it easy, and control myself, letting him make his move first. What he does is attract kids to stop him so he can have a clearer connection to his targets, a front porch approach. I know this dried out ballsack prays each day that a group of wild brats would stop him right in front of my place, just once. And today is just that. It's his lucky day! Right on my curb he stops and parks his van, knocking over my trash bins.

      I yell at him, “Hey watch it!”

     He does nothing but stare at me with his ugly wrinkled sun baked face, while carefully handing out two icecream cones to two little ones jumping to reach their treats.

      He shrugs mockingly, then disappears back into the belly of his van. A heavy, vintage looking, American flag blocks the view through the small ordering window

      I point at the trash bins toppled over in front of his bumper. I get the trash bins back in line at the curb, and whatever trash littered the street. The van begins to rock as the old man pops half his body through the window to deliver four more ice cream cones to four other kids hopping up to reach for them. In a brief moment I catch a glimpse through a slit of the opening of the flag partition, I see monitors, at the most, I count five. So this guy either needs a lot of eyes on just me because he thinks I'm armed and dangerous, or, there is other targets just like me that he's after. Maybe it's possible it's these kid's parents. And now there he is, watching me watch him. He won't try it. Even if he does, he won't get away with it.

    The street lights come on. The other children at the ice cream van has dwindled down to just four eagerly awaiting their frozen treats. The warm summer night is filled with electricity and smells of vanilla and chocolate ice cream. From inside my house I watch the ice cream man handing out the last two cones. Then, as he returns back inside his van, I see it idle. Then I flip the switch.

      A flood of light hits the front yard and the ice cream van. I see the van shake about as the old man jumps out the driver side door to wield a sawed off shotgun at my house. He lets a round go off, I hear it tear hole through the left wing of the house where the guest bathroom is located.

      “Your evil technology is enslaving us all, can't you see that? You devil scum!” The old man sends off another shot, for some reason at the same spot previously.

      “This is my business. You have nothing to do with my work here. Now go away!” I prepare my drone, Little One, for take off. It's sitting in a concave of my roof.

       I peck at the poor sighted old buffoon with pellets using Little One's Gatling gun. The old man desperately fires his shotgun at the night sky, hoping to land a shot.

      “I'll get you, you som'uva'bitch! And I'll take all of your wealth!” He tries to load his weapon as I send a signal flare from Little One. It alerts the right kind of attack.

      All the children that had just purchased ice cream cones from this ice cream man, they start to run up and throw their ice cream cones back at the old man. He cowers away, making the attempt to get into his van. But with Little One's newest modification I send miniature armed projectile capable enough to do as much damage as a hand grenade. It does the job just right. The kids cheer at the blazes and burning of out dated technology. The old man reaches towards the flames for any chance that he might salvage something of his gear. It's all gone.

      He begins to run off, into the night, down the street shouting, “I'll be back you suburban scum! The war is not over! And many others just like me will attack you and your street!”

      Well, he is right about that. This war will never end. So long as I keep doing good and climbing my way up the chain of power, there will be others, similar to me, and to this old man, that trying to sabotage and out climb me and anyone else getting in their way. My wallet is safe for now. I tell myself that as I watch a tall office building, at a particular window on the top floor; a silhouette of a man holding up what I believe to be binoculars. I turn back inside the house to get my binoculars, but it's too late to get a look at my peeping tom. He's been watching me this whole night. The trash bins, my drone, the anarchist children, the old man. This mystery fellow just might be who sent this babbling old idiot to attack me. Attack me will you! Send incompetents to do your dirty work, having me to react, well played. Now it's my turn. . .

      Then, with a screaming ring emitting from the my server room, an explosion erupts sending the bedroom door flying off its hinges breaking the window's glass. I run for the room just in time to see a black clad assassin looking agent man, making his way out of a properly cut hole in my wall. This entire event was a distraction, a veil tossed over my eyes so the real thieves could do their work.

      Emotions boil over as I try to grasp the situation. I put out the fire. I breathe, and remind myself, this is just half of it, remember; (the other half of miners and servers, is down below, in the basement that I designed myself.)

      I sit, and plan my next move.