Page 22 - Billy Graham in Heaven

The Four Lane into the Brain
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Graham had always thought Heaven would be a place free from discomfort, but he’d already felt considerable pain dealing with that nasty skeptic Nietzsche. He jerked back, shook hands awkwardly and reluctantly murmured, “Good to see you too Liberace.”
“Call me Lee,” said the pianist. “Well, here we are, two of the greatest performers in history!”
“Call me Billy. I appreciate your accolade, but I didn’t consider myself a performer. I was working for God.”
“Come now Reverend. You and I could rock a crowd as well as Michael Jackson. Who cares why? But you were by far the greatest. Wasn’t it the late 1950s when you shattered box-office records for Madison Square Garden, probably for all time?”
“Yes sir,” said Graham. “Ninety-six days in a row. Over two million people. But they came to know the Lord, not to see me.”
“They came to be amazed by you and the Lord Billy. Not even the Beatles could’ve approached that run.”
“I was no Elmer Gantry,” said Graham. “Or who were those Charlotte charlatans, Jim and Tammy Baker? I was, am, a true believer!”
Then Graham noticed two pints of what appeared to be dark porter beer sitting beside them on a tray. Liberace saw Graham noticing and said: “I never touch the stuff. It was too hard on my dashing allure when I was alive. They promised it wouldn’t affect my physique up here, but I just can’t seem to develop a taste. But don’t let that stop you from indulging Billy.”
“No thanks,” said Graham. “There sure seems to be an awful lot of alcohol in what should be teetotaling Heaven.”