And lo, the barkeep swung open the doors to his temple and declared, "Bring me your tired, parched, and hungry. For today a new light shines... specifically, it shines on deep-fried flesh and glimmering craft cocktails. From this day forth, you have a new shelter from the pains of the world and the dregs of sobriety. It shall be called Church." And so it was. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. No, seriously, let he go do that, so that you can take his portion of fried chicken skin, which is a great example of the reduced-tithings feast thou can cop at the 4-6p happy hour. There also be-th late-night offerings of chicken fingers and oysters. Should guilt overrun your soul, take solace in the confession booth, which will capture your effort to repent digitally and printeth the proof on a photo strip. Watching over this blessed sanctuary shall be many saints, among them Jesus of Los Angeles and Mel of Gibson. And on plates larger shall be served the flesh of beasts slain locally, such as the rib of swine slathered in house-consecrated BBQ sauce, and "Thee Burger" topped with brisket. Thine cup doth overflow with fine sacraments: behold the Hang Your Cross, a chalice full of whiskey, fernet, orange curacao, and Angostura. And the people rejoiced before staggering off to make out with a stranger. So it was written. So it shall be.