"Now we got 'em!" A cackley voice continued, "no way the ga-ga gooddd Pastor's

gonna get oudda this one."  The wicked laughter accompanied the clear cut evidence - a pic of Pastor West's little puttzoom - License number ... doesn't matter, it was his - parked outside of Room #7, at a certain little hide-away, located in the next county.  Witchiepoo's partner-in-wickedness cackled her own response, concerning a sermon he'd given several months ago.  The leading Scripture was, 1 Corinthians 11-9 ("Neither was the man created for the woman; but the woman for the man.") and was still mad as all heck.   

Witchie#1, who had inadvertently spotted the pastor's rolling soda can, had been in the area, on her way to ... score some brown-bottle.  She didn't think it necessary to share the pic's proceeds, or any of the brown liquid, with Witchie#2.  Neither did she feel any sting, whatsoever, whenever any Scripture was preached.  

Such sheep! Witchie#1, shook her head.  The one sunday, some old dude, sitting nearby,  had suddenly sat up straight, as if "...not forsaking the assembly of the saints..." had been launched directly at him.  He-he, served the geezer right; prior to the service, he had been going on about the ... whatever point buck he'd shot the sunday before the previous.

"Oh, and just in time for Christmas - ho-ho-ho."

"Hey, thad-ul make a great caption."