THE TRIAL OF GOD a play in one act by Jim Mahoney PROSECUTOR: And, on the night of June 4th, 1944 did you not witness the aforementioned Dr. Mengele throw a baby into the oven before its horrified mother? GOD: I did. I don't miss a sparrow's fall, you know. PROSECUTOR: And is it not true that you are possessed of infinite power? GOD: I AM! ( here, he flexes his huge arms, causing a bit of lightning to flash across the ceiling of the courtroom, to the discomfiture of the spectators ) There is no other Power before Me! PROSECUTOR: Yet, you did nothing to stop this terrible act. GOD: ( replies, picking at his cuticles, somewhat abstractedly ) Lifted nary a finger. PROSECUTOR: ( histrionically ) Ladeeez and gentlemen of the jury! I submit that the defendant, one God, is a pathological and sociopathic madman, who has caused the death and torment of millions of beings since time began. GOD: No need to get personal, you know. JURY FOREMAN: ( leaping to his feet ) There is no need to deliberate! We, the jury, find the defendant guilty on all counts, and recommend that he be punished far beyond the maximum allowed by law. JUDGE: ( turning to the defendant ) Mr. God. I hereby decree that you be removed from the precincts of the Known Universe to the Cosmic Penitentiary and there be hanged by the neck until dead. GOD: ( somewhat diffidently ) Uh, judge. JUDGE: ( scowling ) Yes! GOD: I was kind of hoping for a cross. JUDGE: You've done that before. GOD: ( shifts his great, sweating bulk uneasily on the chair) Well, I never was a particularly original thinker. I mean, look at all these religions I invented and not a thimbleful's difference among 'em - I never could figure out why you slaughtered yourselves in the millions over them, although I must admit it was an edifying spectacle - I mean ... ( god natters on in this vein for a while ) JUDGE: ( impatiently ) Enough! Bailiffs - remove the defendant! GOD: ( rising somewhat shakily, he begins to blubber ) I don't want to die! JUDGE: ( sternly ) Should have thought of that Before you sent the Flood. GOD: ( wets his pants and is dragged off sobbing and howling, his overlarge feet bumping through a trail of piss and tears ) I'll be back! I'll get you all! JUDGE: ( muttering to himself) What a bunch of worthless bullies. An unseemly performance. No wonder God is doG spelled backwards. ( aloud ) Next case! PROSECUTOR: The Human Race vs Gaia, a.k.a Mother Earth, a.k.a Nature. JUDGE: The charge? PROSECUTOR: Murder most foul. JUDGE: How do you plead, Ms. Gaia? And may I say that's a very pretty dress. GAIA: ( bashfully ) Not innocent, your honor. I was led astray. JUDGE: By whom? GAIA: God made me do it. JUDGE: Why, the beast! You poor child. ( he bangs his gavel ) Case dismissed! ( rising ) Come into my chambers, dear girl. My, that's quite a nice perfume (he lays his clubby fingers on her bare back ) GAIA: It's eau de rotte, judge. JUDGE: Indeed. Enchanting. ( turning to the prosecutor ) Court is adjourned! The case of Mr. Pan Satyrus will be continued until next Monday, 10:00 a.m. ( The lights suddenly dim as a great visceral moan passes through the universe and God is hanged. ) JUDGE: Don't worry about the theatrics, dear Gaia. They all do it. Think they're all so special. The Only One. Another few thousand cases and we'll be rid of the whole sorry lot of them. GAIA: ( simpering and winking up at the judge ) Why, what will we do then, judge? JUDGE: ( his hand plays slowly down her lush green back ) We'll think of something my young lovely. GAIA: ( in her best phony-Southern accent ) Why, judge - I'm not all that old, you know. JUDGE: What's a few billion years between friends, eh? ( He grabs her fulgent ass as they enter the dark room ) The above is not meant as a reflection on Christianism, Judaism, Mormonism, Islamism, Zoroastrianism, Mooism, Easterislandism, Ahura Mazdaism, Baalism, Baha Peninsulism, ismism, jismism, monkeybusinessism, or any other ism, real or imaginary, to which is arisen a resemblanche, living or dead, to the Creator of Heaven and Earth, and especially the little fishies. The Lord our Cod. constructed by Jim Mooney in the year of our Lord, 1994, at the cafe' neu Rick, Tangiers God comes around behind the stage, still rubbing the rope burns on his neck: "Jim, do you think we could go with the lethal injection next time?" "Oh, come on. You know you always like to ham it up." "Yeah, but this is getting tough on me." "Pretty tough on us too." He claps God on his great back as they head toward the lights at the end of the runway, their feet disturbing a greyish fog. "Lissen, why don't we try out a new idea." "I'm game." "You know, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."