I never thought I'd see the Latina ladies who staff Rancho Bravo collectively freak out—no matter how crowded it gets, no matter how stupid people are, no matter how many quesadillas they've got crowding the grill, they always seem perfectly composed.

Until 10 minutes ago, when a hulking Hispanic metalhead—he looked like a Latino Rob Zombie—approached the counter wearing a black t-shirt that read, in big yellow letters, "WHO WOULD JESUS FUCK?"

The action behind the counter froze. Eyes widened like saucers. Then, in a moment, things were back to normal.

He ordered a couple of tacos and a soda.