Tired after a long day of drunken debauchery, a woozy Rev. Smith got behind the wheel of his ‘78 AMC Gremlin, stepped on the gas pedal, and promptly fell asleep. Friends found him hours later, his head against the steering column, the car lodged in a ditch in the woods behind Smith’s house. “Good thing that car hasn’t run in, like, twenty years,” said a close friend, pulling Smith’s limp and drooling body out the missing passenger side door, “Why does he even keep this thing?” Smith was dragged back inside the house where he was administered coffee and french toast until he came back to his senses. “More coffee, please,” said Smith.