We fall back, exhausted from our momentary emotional investment, and talk about female jockeys and using your mind to operate televisions and Pratt's modified margarita recipe (one part margarita mix, one part tequila, a quarter part whiskey, a quarter part Grand Marnier, lime) and his plans to go frog spearing with Willie Robertson, and how everyone is connected through God, he and I and that loser California Chrome.
He has proof.
"In Maui, about four weeks before I was discovered to go to California, I was hanging with my buddy. I wasn't quite old enough to drink, so we got somebody to go in and buy us some alcohol. This guy came by and was like, 'What are you doing tonight?' I was like, 'Oh, I dunno. I was just gonna wait out here, my friends are gonna buy me a bottle of Carlo Rossi and a sixer of Milwaukee's Best Ice. So he's like, 'Will you fornicate tonight?' I was like, 'I hope so.' 'And drugs and drinking?' It's like, 'Most likely, yeah. Probably all three of those things. I mean, at least two of them, possibly all three.' He was like, 'I stopped because Jesus told me to stop and talk to you. He said to tell you you're destined for great things.' My friends came out, and I was like, 'Hey, I'm gonna go with this guy.' I gave my soul to Jesus within, like, two days. I was stuffing envelopes for his organization, Jews for Jesus. I'm not even sure, at that age—I was nineteen years old—I knew what Jewish was."
A few days later, sober and filled with Christian Jew for Jesus vigor, Pratt returned to the beach. He ran into a friend, a pastor's daughter who was smoking meth and "whoring around," and told her what he'd been up to. She asked him to get her to church, he called his new sponsor on a pay phone, and she became a Youth with a Mission pastor.
"I feel a little bit like my entire purpose was to get her."
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