Satan's Sixes Sunday

I'm going to hell.

Well, since you're reading this, you are going to hell.

We missed out on the Rapture.

We're doomed.

I've been preparing for these Apocalyptic times for quite a few years. In my day-to-day transactions I noticed that the number "666" would show up with eerie frequency. I was marked. With the sign of the devil.

A Chick Publications tract I've collected. Read the whole thing here (if you dare!)

Here's a more realistic rendering of what we're facing:

A Sunday Liō strip, hanging on my wall

The sequence "666" didn't really occur with any more frequency than any other three digit number but I started noticing it. Other sets of numbers weren't interesting so my brain didn't count up the times that the numbers weren't "666" and tell me that it occurred only with the expected frequency. Since I paid attention to the 666s, they must be happening to me unnaturally often. As my brain got accustomed to seeing 666, it would alert me to it even if I saw it with only peripheral vision. Sometimes I will know that the numbers are somewhere around me and I have to search for them. They'll always be there.

I started collecting the evidence that I was a minion of the Antichrist. Or at least that "666" shows up in my life. Yours, too, if you pay attention.

I kept receipts that contain those sixes. I kept money with sixes in their serial numbers. Newspaper articles. Claim tickets.

Family and friends learned of my hobby and they've contributed stuff. The Devil is everywhere!

I'm going to show you some of my collection. We have five months before God plinks the universe out of existence so I need to work fast. (Family Radio's web site wasn't working when I was writing this so I couldn't link to their post-Rapture timetable.) I'll try to show you a few items from the collection each Sunday and tell you interesting stories about them.

A card Peggy included in one of her contributions to my collection
Postmarked 7 May 1992

Just one item this week (well, three since you've seen two others already).

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A Manufactured 666

Radio Shack used to try to get your name and address each time you bought something. I found that to be annoying. I usually just declined their request for the information. I then took up giving them fake names. One day I decided to let them know that I found it really annoying.

Cashier: "What's your name and address?"

Me: "John Q. Public..."

Cashier (typing, cluelessly): P-U-B-L-I-C

Cashier: "Address?" 

Me: "Six-six-six Elm Street," I started. 

Cashier (throwing up his hands in despair): "I'm not typing that!"

He shoved the keyboard to me and had me enter it.

Here's my receipt.

Radio Shack receipt, August 5, 1990

I'm going to hell.

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