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About Ploiesti

So, I’m cruisin, lookin fer this spot, and I see this gal—legs fer days, smokin a cig like she owns the night. I’m like, “Git-R-Done, she’s it!” But then—bam!—cop lights flashin, and I’m madder’n a wet hen! Ain’t that just my luck? Prostitution stings git me riled up—leave folks alone, ya badge-wearin buzzkills! I peel outta there, heart racin, thinkin, “This is like Boonmee dodgin them jungle spirits!”

What We Do

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Then, outta nowhere, this kid trips and spills grape juice all over the altar. I’m like, “Great, now I gotta clean that up.” But the kid’s crying, and I’m trying to be all pastoral and comforting. “It’s okay, buddy! It’s just juice!” But inside, I’m like, “Why, God, why?”