"I am He Who Am, and I'm here to talk about Franklin Graham."
“Billy Graham's heir? The preacher who said You personally selected Trump to be President?”
“That peckerhead. I had nothing to do with Trump getting elected. It’s caused Me all kinds of grief already. With Trump’s finger on the nuclear button, I have to really get serious about motivating Jesus to get back here and judge the living and the dead before Trump blows the place up, and that’s causing discord Up There. My Kid has been putting off His return for 20 centuries now. He has bad memories of the place. Claims He has PTSD from getting crucified.”
“Could be, huh?”
“Slacker. Whenever I mention the fact that there’s currently 7 billion plus souls to be judged nowadays, and the number ain’t getting smaller, He mutters ‘Intercourse those feces,’ and goes back to drinking wine and playing poker with the Apostles, using the souls of the faithful departed as chips. I need you to tell everybody that Franklin Graham is full of crap.”
“Why me, oh Lord? You know everything, so You must know that most of my readers are elderly alcoholics. From a demographic point of view, they suck. Why don’t you appear to Franklin Graham Yourself?”
“Because he would have a heart attack and die. I don’t need him up here, fawning all over Me. It’s creepy enough getting worshipped by him from afar.”
“You could send him to the Other Place.”
"Nope. Satan has evoked a clause in our contract to keep the Pit of Darkness free of any more money-grubbing American preacher types until at least 2020. He’s sick of them, too. Why do you think Pat Robertson is still alive? What is he, 90?”
“Aren’t You supposed to know that?”
“I’m not a detail Guy, which should be plenty obvious to anyone who’s taken a careful look at My work. That’s how Trump slipped in. I was tinkering with a couple of quasars, you know, routine Supreme Being stuff, during the election year, and the polls all had Hillary winning, so I just back-burnered the whole Trump question. I was as surprised as anyone else.”
‘It’s not too late to fix it, My Lord. He’s a seventy-year old guy living on cheeseburgers and Viagra. You could call his number and nobody would be surprised. Grant him eternal peace before the Inauguration. I hear he even went to church on Christmas Eve.”
“Yeah, but all he prayed for was the chance to have sex with Ivanka without anybody finding out, including Ivanka. It's his usual prayer. I whispered in his ear, ‘Why ask Me? You already know Bill Cosby."
“Trump in Heaven? NO, and I mean one of My great big I’m-going-to-kill-all-your-firstborn sons NO'S! You think I want to issue chastity belts to all the Cherubim to keep Trump’s fingers off of them? And Satan’s already put the kibosh on letting Trump into Hell. No, he’s going to live until we’ve constructed a special eternal existence for him. We’ve already broken the ground for it. We’re calling it the Trump Towering Inferno.”