If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my day job, it’s this: Baltimore’s a town that isn’t afraid to push the limits of local advertising. From lawyer Barry Glazer’s now legendary “Don’t urinate on my leg and tell me it’s raining” ad to Scotty Donahoo’s karaoke car sales spots, we’ve carved out a kitschy niche with laser-point precision.

Just when I think we’ve surged beyond the very boundaries of what’s allowable by those uptight chumps at the FTC, I stumble upon something like this while cutting through downtown to avoid the I-95 tolls:

Does that say what I think it says? [photo by yours truly]

Yeah, that says what I think it says. {photo by yours truly}

I was barely able to get a picture off before this guy ascended to heaven (or turned down Lexington Street). I wanted to blast the guy. To write him off as some opportunistic, holy-rolling d-bag looking to turn idiots’ faith into 10% deposits. But really, what does it matter? Do the folks who would trust this guy really deserve to be walking amongst us? Besides, who could blame the dude for wanting to affiliate his company with a blue-chip name? Especially a name that doesn’t come with the licensing and royalty baggage that you’d get with a celeb or sports hero. Catherine Zeta-Jones gets paid by the truckload, but she’s never walked on water. Or turned water into wine. Or done other miracle-ly things with water. And while Brett Favre is proof that anyone can come back from the dead, it doesn’t warrant the six-figure fees that come with his endorsement - no matter how often he’s done it.

But, oh boy, it gets better. Apparently these guys have access to a video camera, editing equipment and local cable ad buys:

It’s safe to say the Man Upstairs has put Judgment Day on His calendar. In ink.

When he’s not keeping the faith here, M. M. McDermott is here. Email him at mmcdermott@getrenegade.com

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