Drawing

The numbers for the drawing: 6 6 6. I'm not superstitious, but I think the world is trying to tell me something. That's why I wear my devil mask everywhere and listen to Perry Cuomo singing Iron Maiden songs. It gives me something to do. Then the baby next door believes her father will come to take her to his infernal palace. Fat chance. A disguise is what I need, a balloon one maybe, where people run after me with pins. I don't doubt Satan exists, but I've heard he prefers to be called Stan. That's what trying to fit in gets you. I also carried a pitchfork to work and threatened the boss with eternal damnation. More work, that's what it got me. Doubt is impossible in this world. If faith has reached its bottom, keep scooping it out, eventually one will drink the Bible's liquid pages. Because I won the lottery I was given a motorcycle without a helmet. I'm too scared to drive it around, because cherubs follow me on astral projections of tricycles. Hearing the wings flap, angelic as they are, gives me the heebie jeebies. Try telling a joke. O.K., this one's about a guy who couldn't screw in a light bulb, so he posed as a travelling salesman and met and married a wonderful farmer's daughter. She was a horse, though. This is where you're supposed to laugh. The new numbers are the same as the old, always.