The number 3

I'm new to blogs. I used to have a website. The website was called www.nomustardonly.com. It had links to various sections. One of the sections was about funny rape stories. It was an attempt to show that rape can sometimes be funny. The section was a failure. Rape, it turns out, is hardly ever funny. I am going to put some of the things from those pages, rape tales aside, into this blog. Here is my first entry, about the number 3. It is pretty much true.

3 is the best number. All my life I’ve loved the number 3. I remember, when I was 3, my father asked me what my favorite number was. His was 84 or some stupid number like that with two digits. I told him mine was 3. “Of course,” he said, “since you are 3. When you are four, I’ll bet your favorite number will be 4.”
“I disagree,” I replied. “I am not so very fond of the number 4.” In all honesty, I think I have always been jealous of 4, seeing as it is forever one higher than 3. “Plus,” I continued, “I rather enjoyed 3 even when I was two.” I was probably full of shit, but I said it anyway. Later that night we had pot roast.
There was a time, when I was seven or so, when 7 almost became my favorite number. It never quite made it, though, and has always remained my second favorite number. 3 and 7 are the only numbers I even bother to rank. Except for 6. I hate 6, and rank it 50th. It sucks. People are always like, “You should like 6 if you like 3, because 3 times 2 is 6.” Fuck that. That is no reason to like a number. I mean, shit, tons of numbers are 3 times something. I hate 6 so much that I almost hated all numbers with 6 in it, like 16 and 65. But that would be taking it too far. Plus, what would I do with 63? The worst year of my life was when I was six. One time when I was six I fell down the stairs, and then got the flu I think. The only good thing that happened when I was 6 was Columbus Day, and by then I was practically seven anyway. I was the last kid in class to be six years old, so when I turned seven, I was so happy that I almost liked 7 as much as 3.
It’s been said that if I like 3, I should like 33, and really love 333,333,333. Those numbers are great, and I’m always excited when I come across them, but I don’t love them like I do regular 3. I think it might be like a 3 overdose or something. And I’ve heard shit from people that say “3 is really just 8 with most of its left half gone.” True, but 8 is cool, and the left is the shittiest part of the 8 anyway. The reason I love 3 so much is because nearly everything would be better if you had 3 of them. Imagine if you had 3 legs. You could run as fast as you can, and still be able to kick shit. You’d rule at soccer, Twister, and, more likely for you, tap dancing (you goddamn pussy). Or, imagine if you had 3 Porsches. How fucking sweet would that be? Just about the only thing I can think of that it isn’t better for you to have 3 of is ears. You know, for hearing. It wouldn’t really help you much, plus, where would they put it? On your forehead? You’d look retarded. It would be like one of those dudes on those sob-story circus-weirdo shows on the discovery channel that are always called something like “I am not a freak.” Yeah you are. You’ve got a fucking ear coming out of your forehead!