Driving down to the Seaworld, I stopped just south of the weird double-breasted San Onofre nuke plant to take in an ocean view.  As I pulled into the rest area, I saw what looked like the Partridge Family’s multi-colored bus dominating the tiny beachside lot.  Unlike the Partridge’s squeaky clean pattern, each of this bus’s colored squares contained a crazy religious messages:

WHO HAS NOT MOLESTED THEIR SELF PRIVATELY? DON’T LIE TOO.

RICH PEOPLE HIDE THEIR SINS JUST LIKE HOBOS

The prophet/ driver soon appeared at the driver’s side window, shirtless under his overalls and sporting a long, slightly stained white beard. He thrust a Ritz cracker box toward me.

“Donations fer picture-takin!”

I threw a dollar in. “Thanks Precious!” he exclaimed, withdrawing into his mobile temple. I have to admit, it’s been a long time since anyone called me “precious” and perhaps the subsequent warmth I felt wasn’t simply the blinding California sun.

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