Sour Grapes (Where's The Line? Mix)

Where did I...
Where did I put my notes?
Why, I tell ya, uh, if brain farts had an odor this booth would be uninhabitable! he-he-he
We're on? Okay, uh...

Good evening and welcome, one and all to, to "Where Is The Line?"
I am Reverend Soquet, sometimes mispronounced, uh, "Suckit", but it's, uh, it's "So-quet".
We are here to, to share a snack and, uh, chit-chat about how much fun religion can be without crossing, uh, over the line in, into sin.
You just don't, you just don't need to cross the, the line, as we will demonstrate.
We already have a bunch of, uh, people messaging in via, uh, Tweeter and iFace and, and in, what-not with, uh, with questions, uh, for, for uh, "Where Is The Line? uh, with Reverend Soquet".

Uh, our first, our first message in question is coming in from Father Mudder from Xenia, Ohio.
And he wants to know, uh, "How far can we go, Reverend, er, uh, can we touch, can we touch the line?"
And the answer is, "No, Father. No, Father! To touch it would be to cross it cross it."
Look, people, it's it's it's it's very simple, it's very simple.
All, you all can have as much fun as your tummy can take, ya just can't cross, cross the line of sin.
As as as tempting as that tasty plate of fresh baked, baked sin may appear, damnation and hell-fire are saturating the very plate on which it is, uh, delivered, uh, unto, unto you.

Umm, we have a second caller? Okay. Good.
Well, Sister Brudder calling in from, uh, Ravenna, Ohio.
Uh, she wants to know, "Reverend Soquet, can we sniff the line?"
Uh, and the answer is, "Yes, Sister. You can get right down on both knees and sniff that line and you, you can back your donkey right up to the line. And you can walk your doggy along the line, ya just can't cross the line. Hallelujah!"

Our next callers in are, uh, let's see, a Brother Ed and a Brother Aunt from Cleveland, Ohio.
They wanna know what denomination I am: Catholic, Lutheran, Baptist, uh... And people, there-in-lies the problem.
The spiritual economy is going right down the shitter. The operating costs of salvation are, are through the roof.
But, most concerning, most concerning, is is is is this: our youth, are confused. And it's our fault, people - mixed, mixed messages.
We need to downsize these factions; stop with the "my God's dick is bigger than your God's bologna sandwiches".
My friends, we need to... hand out some 'spiritual pink-slips' and downsize before we have to file Chapter 11, verse 23 skadoo.
Can I get an "amen!"?

Folks, I may... I might need to cut this rant short.
My spidey senses are picking up the pungent scent of sin.
Um, at first I thought it might have been that divine scent coming from the Pulled Pork Kiosk on Fifth and Euclid. But, that was just a distraction.
A den of sin is in full swing somewhere near us now
And I'ma do my best to be there for the fallen when they mutter, "Where is the line?"
Peace out, bitches.