Item: From the state that us brought us the big soda debate, we now take you to Gloversville, New York, where the ice cream war is heating up.

This, however, isn’t a debate on taking away our sovereign right to eat copious amounts of ice cream; it’s simply a turf war between rival ice cream trucks.

It seems Sno Cone Joe stalked Mr. Ding-A-Ling in an effort to push Mr. Ding-A-Ling out of the apparently highly tense and ruthless frozen dessert business going on in this city of 15,665 people, some 65 miles from the most gracious capital city of Albany.

Holy creamsicles, Batman! A population of more than 15,000? Isn’t that about the size of Roanoke Rapids? Yes it is, Robin, and that’s what frightens this scribe.

Let’s just hope the frozen treat fighting doesn’t happen here in the city that Sam Patterson, Archie Chaloner or Thomas Emry built since each in their own way contributed mightily to its progress.

Just as there’s room enough for petrol dispensaries too numerous to count in old Great Falls, there’s room enough for two ice cream trucks. The last your reporter checked there was at least two ice cream trucks driving through this fair city.

I heard one of them Thursday, beckoning denizens of old Rosemary to come buy chilled savories by chiming Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.

It would be a travesty should the Roanoke Rapids ice cream truck market fall prey to the petty jealously of Sno Cone Joe and Mr. Ding-A-Ling, which has led to harassment and stalking charges against the two owners of Sno Cone Joe, this per New Amsterdam press dispatches.

The heated confrontation included one of them in the employ of Sno Cone Joe shouting, “This is my town,” this, again, per television newscasts from the Empire State.

So brazen was Sno Cone Joe that they called the headquarters of Mr. Ding-A-Ling and proclaimed, “I own this town.”

It’s enough to strike fear into the hearts and minds of the lads and lasses who only pined to get an ephemeral treat to soothe their heated palates.

This reporter believes the mobile frozen treat vendors of Roanoke Rapids won’t do this type of thing. There’s plenty of room for both to pedal push-ups and Popsicles without reverting to such barbarous New York behavior.

We would humbly implore, however, the one frozen treat merchant with the quite perplexing name to consider a change to something less cannibalistic than Family Flavored Ice lest it scare the wee ones away. Overall we are always overjoyed to hear the welcoming strains of Christmas carols, La Cucaracha and other whimsical refrains of childhood calling us to partake of the icy wares.

The similarities between the two hamlets are astonishing, however. Gloversville was once, believe it or not, the hub of the American glove making industry with more than 200 manufacturers between Gloversville and those scoundrels in Johnstown.

Roanoke Rapids thrived in the textile trade, as we all know well.

Beyond the sheer ridiculousness of the verbal rhubarbs Sno Cone Joe has been hurling at Mr. Ding-A-Ling, it makes this ink-stained wretch fear that ice cream wars could develop here. My only hope, dear readers, is cooler heads will prevail and the obvious pun that ends this editorial juggernaut is purely intended — Lance Martin