And then Bernard, for the word of Thy Lord he carried, said to his tribe:
"And then Thy Lord should appear to us in the middle of the Atlantic, riding his burning bush... I mean trawler. His ever-burning never-sinking holy trawler.
...
Yes. Even Thy Lord has to adapt to local environement too if he wants to touch our cold submariners' heart with grace and make some impression. No kidding.
...
Now, in the name of St Bernard, protector of zig-zag walking and toxic smelly breath, would you please stop playing with my Schnapps, you'd be nice. Im not drunk enough not to slap you in the face,
Himmel!"