Dear God Page #9

since leaving the legal profession|two years ago for unknown reasons.

Rumour has it|she appeared at a deposition

for an animal-rights case|totally nude.

Will you stop the shaking?|I'm trying to listen!

The Government wishes to keep|its focus on Mr Tom Turner,

despite the multitude of sins|confessed to by his co-workers.

Now, what do these co-workers|have in common?

All of them have worked|at the Post Office for years

without ever committing a crime.

- That's a good point.|- Shut up!

The defendant, however,|a man with a dubious character,

arrived a month and a half ago,

at precisely the same time that these|so-called miracles began to occur.

He broke the law

and he directed others|to break the law.

But worst of all,|he literally chose to play God,

to who knows how many hundreds|of good and faithful people.

And what of the countless others|who write to God every day?

There must be accountability here.

There must be a reckoning.

This is no petty misdemeanour,|Your Honour.

This is hurtful and cruel fraud.

The Government demands|the maximum fine and imprisonment.

I know, Tom.|I was the one that got you into this

and I'm gonna figure out|something tonight.

- And I'm gonna get you out.|- Thanks.

We'll adjourn|until nine tomorrow morning.

"I just want you to know

thing and we're proud of you. "

to make you smile. "

Here we are.

I didn't know Rebecca had dogs.

Dogs?

Your Honour, these are my witnesses|for my closing argument.

- Alright, proceed.|- Thank you, Your Honour.

Let me take you back,|back millions of years ago,

when the Earth spewed forth|many different species

from its molten loins.

Some species stayed in their|microscopic state, others moved on.

No matter how far they developed,

they all retained|one common characteristic

which I will demonstrate for you now.

Your Honour,

this is Rocky.

And Rocky is a healthy|little doggie, aren't you, sugars?

And that is his friend, Taffy. And|Taffy's been a sick puppy all week.

Now, Taffy needs some nourishment,

and in my pocket|I have a little doggie treat,

which I am going to set between|these two old friends.

Now, healthy doggy Rocky cares|about his poor sick friend Taffy,

but he still quickly gobbled up|the treat.

Gobbled it up!

Because Rocky acted only on instinct|and not feelings.

Because that is what animals do,|Your Honour.

You big thing, you!

But human beings,

human beings are able|to help their friends,

because human beings can recognise|when their friends are sick,

or our friends are happy,

or our friends are... sad.

Now, yes, maybe Tom Turner did do

some of those things|that the learned prosecutor,

who sucks his thumb in his sleep,|says that he did.

But Tom Turner|didn't do these things for himself.

Tom Turner did these things|for other people.

Can the dogs leave now,|before there's an accident?

- OK, everybody up.|- Rocky and Taffy may step down.

Mayday! Mayday!

We all know what Tom Turner did.|What we don't know is why he did it.

Things aren't going well.|I need all the help I can get.

- Would you like to know why?|- I'd like to know.

I need sorters, carriers, drivers.

Speaking on his own behalf,

may Tom Turner finish|my closing argument?

Roll the trucks.

You didn't prep me on this.

Just tell them the truth,|or... make something up.

Proceed. I want to celebrate|Christmas before it's New Year's.

- She's making Tom speak?|- Yeah.

Thank you,|Judge Kits Van... Heineken.

- I can't pronounce your name.|- Then call me Shirley.

But let's get this thing|moving along.

I don't have any dogs with me|and I'm not a very good dancer.

I can only tell you my thoughts.

I lay awake most of last night,|wondering how I ended up here.

About how I've spent my life|playing people for fools.

And these losers' letters to God|gave you a sudden change of heart?

They didn't. When I first saw them,|I thought these people were saps.

If I could have taken advantage|of them, I would have.

But they didn't have anything|to take, except their faith.

And I didn't even know what that was.

I mean, how could people,

especially people dealt|such crummy, pathetic hands,

have faith in anything or anyone?

I don't know how things got going,

but it's not because I had|some sort of noble intention.

If anything, it's because I met|somebody who saw right through me.

I wanted her to think I was a better|person than we both knew me to be.

She's not here right now.

Her name is Gloria.

She had to work.|As many do, I've discovered.

Window.|Mr Bacon, will you please see to it

that all of the windows|are tightly closed?

Yeah, Tom!

- Proceed, young man.|- Well, that's pretty much it.

I mean, the letters kept pouring in|and I began to believe.

To believe|that I could really help people

and that that was more rewarding|than any con that I could pull.

And then I found,|this is the really bizarre thing,

the less I tried to take advantage|of people, the more I got back.

Your Honour,|I lost my programme notes.

Is this where we all clap|for Tinker Bell?

You're blessed|with a con artist's gift

of talking his way out of trouble.

That didn't sound like a compliment.

So how do I know|if your words are sincere

or if they're some cynical attempt|to talk your way out of trouble?

I don't know.

I appreciate your candour,|Mr Turner.

And I hope that you can appreciate...

Would somebody please tell me|what is going on out there?

The Federal courthouse is surrounded

by what appears to be|every mail truck in the Southland.

traffic is at a standstill.

Tom in jail, no mail.

Your Honour, you're gonna have to|see it to believe it.

There must be 1,000 postal trucks|out there.

That's a damn miracle.

Let go of me.

I am Postmaster General|Preston Sweeny.

Sure! I'm Shaquille O'Neal,|this is Michael Jordan,

but you still can't go in.

I flew in from Washington.|I left a party to come here.

He is the Postmaster General! Sorry.

Thank you very much.|I'll remember you. Let go of me!

Mr Sweeny, let's have a photograph!

- We met at your daughter's wedding.|- She's divorced.

It's the day before Christmas, I got|30 million pieces of mail backed up.

Fruitcakes are rotting all over|this country. Do something.

- Don't tell me what to do.|- Tom Turner, the defendant.

My client might plead no contest|to one count of unauthorised...

- Miracle doings.|- Are you nuts? Forget it!

Since he passed his postal exam,

I move that all charges|be now erased from his record.

Free Tom T!

They seem to like Tom, Your Honour.

The mail must be delivered. Please.

With the proviso that the defendant|complete a year of employment,

as was previously ordered|by the lower court,

this court finds the defendant,|Tom Turner,

not guilty.

Tom Turner, the Rocky Balboa|of the judicial system,

has scored a knockout. Acquittal.

Tom Turner, not guilty,|as in innocent.

As in, he needed a miracle|and he got one.

I was wrong about you.

- Yes, you were.|- Thanks, Rebecca.

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