About a decade ago, T and I were dining at the Golden Griddle across the street from Maple Leaf Gardens. On this particular morning the Grid was full of hungry Americans. They were very nice hungry Americans and they kept trying to converse with us.
In their hungry American accents they were telling us that they were in town to see Benny Hinn. At the time, I didn't know that name, in fact, I thought they might have meant Benny Hill. When they learnt that I didn't know Benny Hinn they were shocked. I still remember one lady in her hungry American accent loudly repeating this fact in the form of a question. "You've never heard of Benny Hinn?"
As I chowed down on my French Toast that morning, I was force fed numerous wonderful and miraculous things about Benny Hinn. They all loved him, obviously, and promised I wouldn't regret seeing him, for seeing him would certainly change my life for the better and I would be eternally grateful.
I went home and fondly remembered the life altering acts and words of the immortal and divine Benny Hill.
