666 Fest

To metalheads everywhere: There appears to be some confusion about a particular number in reference to me and my eminence. Somewhere between the misinterpretations of numerologists, that movie with the scary kid, and the occasional nod from a handful of spandex-wearing musicians in the late 20th century, all of you...

By Casey Lynch

June 1, 2006

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To metalheads everywhere: There appears to be some confusion about a particular number in reference to me and my eminence. Somewhere between the misinterpretations of numerologists, that movie with the scary kid, and the occasional nod from a handful of spandex-wearing musicians in the late 20th century, all of you seem to think the number 666 somehow represents me. You're wrong -- that number means nothing. It's not my birthday, my gym locker combination or my apartment number. It isn't the date of the impending Apocalypse, and it sure isn't a sign of anything evil. For that matter, neither is that dreadful music you love so much. Anyone with a clue would know that the only music heard in Hell is Michael Bolton and Nickelback. So please, if you must celebrate me with your silly number and tasteless music on June 6, 2006, know that I hate all of it. Well, except Slayer -- they fucking rock.
Cheers, Satan

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