“Who has the money?” the Sheriff asked angrily as he jumped aboard the MetroRail, staring down the passengers heading to the Rose Parade.
I had the money. A whole backpack full of Million-Dollar-bill Gospel-tracts money.

The deputy scanned the crowded train looking for suspects. I stayed silent. I had no idea that it would come to this…
The train had stopped. I stuck a fist full of dollars out the door, handing out tracts to the multitude of de-training Tournament of Roses parade-goers. Everyone grabbed a bill joyfully. I handed a stack to a stranger and told him to hand them out to everyone. He nodded, then dropped the whole stack. A whole pile of phony cash fluttered around the floor boards of the MetroRail station. I quickly stooped to pick them up, shoved them into my pack, stepped back onto the train when—WHOOSH! The Philistine was upon me! The Philistine was upon me!
“Who has the money?” the very determined Sheriff repeated. I have the right to remain silent, I have the right to remain silent…
I spoke up. Meekly. “Uh, I do, Sir.”
“Step off the train right now!” he demanded.
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Porta-Potty Preaching
When Jesus said to “Go!” in Mark 16:15 I’m pretty sure He didn’t mean this: I wanted to preach at the Rose Parade Porta-Potties last year when I saw the crowd waiting nervously in line, but I wasn’t prepared. This time, at the 2008 Tournament of Roses, “Righteous Richard” Chavarria brought along his portable preaching stool
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