Church of the Low Fidelity

So I'm walking along Santa Monica Boulevard, when a van comes rolling  towards me, driving slowly and purposefully.  It's light brown,  sun-bleached, and painted on the sides are enormous white and red  letters, proof that being pious doesn't mean you can rhyme:  READ THE BIBLE WHILE YOU'RE ABLE

The roof is festooned with loudspeakers, all pointing helter-skelter,  and the driver holds a microphone to his lips.  As the van passes, he  looks directly at me and solemnly intones, "Jezzzx Kkrsswst esz Lxrzd!  Rxzenz yxzr sxnnz anz rezxeze exeernzz lefzz nz Hezzxn!"

I figure he was speaking in Tongues.

 



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