Dr Filth had problems. They were the unusual kinds. He had headaches too. For every time in the world an evil child was born, his head would spin terribly. He had grown used to it, like you and I would treat waking up in the mornings like.
He had had a quiet dinner this evening with the devil, and the devil had nothing new to share. They had problems too, but they were unlike ours. They quietly carved the meat served to them, they drank their wine and parted ways -- without a single word. They weren't the sorts that would get along well, if the world was meant to review them, but somehow they managed well. They had grown attached as well, for Dr Filth couldn't possibly die, and he had been around since the very first day.
He remembered that evening when the first woman ate the apple, he remembered standing there while the man was crucified, with the devil whispering into his ears: "Wait, this is my story, and people will believe this bull."
He wasn't those that had fallen with the devil into the lake of fire or anything like that. He had just got into a terrible argument with God and he packed his suitcases and left, he actually wanted a smoke. The devil never wanted to overthrow God in the first place, he knew that, and it just so happened that the very next evening, he went and whispered something about boredom to God.
God was a bit startled in the beginning, then grew a bit weary and the fact was the he was a bit displeased for some reason best known to him, and he looked a bit helpless. The devil too packed his suitcases, gathered a party that would like drugs, sex and rock n' roll, when a lousy thing happened. The drugs landed him somewhere far and lonely.
But Dr Filth didn't care -- he looked into the mirror carefully. His fine white teeth that were black from the back. Four bottles of whiskey and 72 cigarettes, would make him feel wonderful, he thought.
He stepped out of the toilet, switched off the light, sat on his favourite armchair and whistled the loneliest tune, you and I have ever heard.