Unashamed, I stood in line outside Patrick Malloy’s, a party bar popular with the college crowd, and waited for my I.D. to be checked. I hadn’t done this in probably fifteen years, so I felt a bit awkward; but it was Happy Hour and I was ready to PARTEEE! The bouncer looked at my driver’s license and asked if I wanted the one-dollar beer cup before he waved me through. I declined, and then walked into the den of iniquity, my conscience drowned out by the multitudes joking and carrying on at the crowded tables…

A group of guys laughed and hollered when I flopped down some cold hard cash on their table and announced, “The next round is on me!” Blonde girls “Wooo-hoooed!” when I offered to buy them appetizers with my curious currency. Within five minutes I circled the entire area leaving smiling, high-fiving, party animals in my wake. I concluded my visit by generously tipping the bartenders with the largest gratuity they had ever seen. I hastily exited the premises before anyone could read the gospel message written on the back of these million dollar bills.

Drunk with the Spirit I staggered across Pier Avenue plaza to The Mermaid, an old-school lush house that catered to the AARP set. A foursome finishing their dinner nodded in gratitude as I laid down four large bills before them. One happy barkeep, three buzzed sports-fans and a flirtatious grandmother later, I then bolted from the place millions poorer—but leaving behind an opportunity for others to be rich in faith.

The Poopdeck was next; to call it a dive would make it classy. Fistfights are common and a mop bucket is put to good use here. Smiles. Nods. Lot of “Thanks a lot” were the responses from this hard-core crowd toward this treasure from Heaven. “Have a drink on me!” I exhorted, tossing the phony bullion in and around folded hands and spilled Budweisers.

The Thai food place had some rough looking punkers sitting around chatting. “Did you get one of these I asked?” handing them some millions. “Can it buy me some food?” one of them said. “Why?” I asked, “You hungry?” “Yes.” “Well, come on in and I’ll buy you some food.” He and a friend followed me into the restaurant. “Get whatever you want,” I offered. They pointed at the shrimp on the menu. I opened my wallet and apologized profusely, because I had only four dollars. Feeling like an idiot for making such an offer without the money to pay for the meal, I pulled out the four bills and gave them away. It didn’t bother the punks at all; they thanked me again and again. I didn’t even talk about Jesus, trusting that God would bless my feeble attempt at helping them out a little.

Finishing my foray at the Dragon bar, I offered to buy more rounds with my phony million dollar bill gospel tracts. I tipped the bartenders and laid down more millions on the counters. One by one, group by group, the denizens of Hell each picked up this little tract that warned of Hell.

And offered free drinks to all who would come to the spring of the water of life.

This was one heck of a bar hop. No designated driver needed.