Mr. JoJo had dreamt of owning his own ice-creamatorium for years now. he had gone into the family business after high school, trading pencils and books for stainless steel and embalming fluid. At first he found it as good as any other job available to him, living in the small, isolated hamlet that he did - 50 people in his senior class. But as the years passed, he grew to hate it with an ever more ferocious intensity. So three months ago he made his decision, two months ago he'd signed the lease for the storefront on Main Street, and one week ago he'd drained the blood from his last corpse. And now! The grand opening of his very own Shoppe. He could hardly scoop, so tremulous was he with joy. He tried to entice the passing schoolchildren with a houted