Dear God Script - Dialogue Transcript

Voila! Finally, the Dear God script is here for all you quotes spouting fans of the David Duchovny and Angelina Jolie movie.  This script is a transcript that was painstakingly transcribed using the screenplay and/or viewings of Dear God. I know, I know, I still need to get the cast names in there and I'll be eternally tweaking it, so if you have any corrections, feel free to drop me a line. You won't hurt my feelings. Honest.

Swing on back to Drew's Script-O-Rama afterwards for more free movie scripts!

Dear God Script


             I've got a foggy, smoggy morning.

             No earthquakes,  no riots, no mudslides.

             A helluva day in Los Angeles.  On the other hand, it's still early.

             Steve Tatum here.

             Don't forget, I'm MCing Hollywood's  Christmas Parade tonight.

             We always hold it  just before Thanksgiving

             to kick off the holiday season.  Of course...

            Found your hat.

            - Is Daddy flying that airplane? - No, sweetie. Sorry.

            Come along. Up the stairs, up you go.

            I miss my friends in New Jersey.

            I know, but you'll make new friends.

            Fasten your seat belt.

            It's a whole new world out here.

            We have a new place at the beach, a new school for you.

            Are you gonna make new friends, too, Mom?

            Of course. There are plenty of nice, normal people here.

            Morning, Tom. Hear the results of New York's Aqueduct today?

            Otis, my man, I already lost.

            Can you get this off my car? It scratches easy.

            Who you gonna bet on at Del Mar?

            Nobody, I'm broke. I'm going to work.

             The Pacific Flyer to San Francisco  departs on track four.

             All aboard.

            Relax, Julie.

            I've lost my purse!

            Your purse is on your shoulder. I swear...

            No-Ioading zone, pal. Keep it moving.

            I'll check on Carmel for you.

            Ladies. I hopped into the cab after you and found this on the floor.

            The driver said he'd mail it to you.

            For heaven's sakes! We do not know the cab driver.

            We certainly do not. We are from Memphis.

            We do not socialise with foreign drivers.

            That's the thing. He seemed very suspicious. He said it was yours.

            You ran all this way to return that little bitty bracelet?

            Ma'am, even an amateur gemologist like myself

            knows the black sapphire is extremely valuable.

            - But that's not our... - What she means is,

            it's a gift for a friend, Sally-Lou, back home.

            - Thank you. - Glad I could help.

            He's so sweet.

            Well, I guess I should give you a reward.

            - God bless you. - God bless you. OK.

            You're not old enough

            for your own PIN number.

            But Laura says I can get one in your name.

            Bravo, bravo.

            There was a fire at San Diego Youth Centre. I had to pull two kids out.

            They're fine, but now I can't push the damn buttons.

            - Help him, Papa. - Would you?

            - You'd trust me with your number? - A fellow Greek?

            What's the number?


            Don't flirt. She's a virgin.


            Damn it!

            Now how do I catch a cab to the burns centre?

            - How far is the hospital? - Beverly Hills. Is that far?

            - We can give him a ride. - No, we don't have time.

            You gotta have the cab fare. I insist. Yeah.

            "Efharisto." It's, like,    miles.


            - He's kinda cute. - Never mind.

            - A trip, Madame Zema? - Would you like to know where?

            I need a little more money...

            Smile, Mrs Alcot, your favourite customer's here.




                  bus ticket to Fresno...

            I don't want no bus ticket to Fresno, man.

            ...        . That's it, for now. I'm a little short.

            You gotta grow, Tommy. As of today, you're short a grand.

            I could sell my car.

            It ain't worth that gumball machine.

            It's over. Junior's cranky, dudes are moving in on his turf.

            Tommy, you gotta quit playing the ponies.

            Gloria. Come here.

            - What? - Those guys are bottom feeders.

            They got small-time written on their pants.

            The guy in black, Webster? He's a loan shark.

            - What's the other called? - Tom.

            You do what you gotta do. Tonight, you meet us in the back of Zema's.

            You don't have      bucks, get out of town.

            Webster, where am I going to go?

            You got a bus ticket to Fresno.

            Help me out here. I'm a little stressed.

            We've been tight a lot of years, but I can't keep covering for you.

            Forget it, Webster. I got the skills to pay the bills.

             That's my man talking, yeah. At Madame Zema's.


               Here comes the Grand Marshal,  Tony Danza!

              I'm doing last-minute fundraising. I'm almost there.

              Junior's coming. I can hear him. He wants to see you now.

              - "We're waiting for you at Zema's." - I'm not well yet.

              Better to show up light than not at all. Get the lead out.

              Don't be a kid-hater. Santa's kids. Thank you.

              - Who are Santa's kids? - Santa's kids are everywhere!

               Mr Baywatch!

               And the mistress of the dark, Elvira.

              There's an experimental treatment that Medicare will cover,

              but I have no way of knowing...

              Sister. Give me your address. I swear, I'll send you a cheque.

              - No. - Please.

              No. When little Junior's back on his feet,

              I hope you'll do a loving act of kindness for someone in need.

              A loving act of kindness?

              Sister Charlotte, what are you doing?

               Coming up will be  Happy Days' Erin Moran

               and Princess Elinor Donahue...

              A round trip to New York. They were for our honeymoon.

              She got this nasal disease. I don't even know what you call it.

              They're worth, like, $     each.

              But we don't have     !

              I'd take less. Like, two?


              - Not now, I'm doing a transaction. - How would you like to spread 'em?

              LAPD. Merry Christmas, pal.

              Of all the crappy deals...


              Shouldn't you be arresting a drug dealer or a movie star?

               Here's the man we've all been  waiting for. Let's hear it, folks!

               Case number   -M  -  -  .

              You're next!

              Mr Greek burn victim? Let's go.

              The scars have almost healed. So, how's your daughter?

              She's... Never mind! Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth

              and nothing but the truth? If you get let off, I'll splatter your nose.

              So help me God?

              Yeah, sure.

              Would you like use of the public defender?

              I can handle this without a lawyer. I have a lot of courtroom experience.

              - As a matter of fact... - Not with me. So settle down.

              Don't make me get the hot brick. Proceed.

              Your Honour, the DA's office wishes to file one charge of fraud,

              but we believe this fraud may be just one of many.

              It's hardly worth tying up this overburdened court system,

              a system which though flawed, yes, it has flaws, is the best damn system

              in the United States of America and maybe the world!

              You can put an exclamation point by that, Miss. Hallelujah!

              So, I'd like to be released now on my own recognisance, thank you.

              Stop, turn, stay.

              Now, Mr Turner, I don't see anything here

              about past or present employment on your sheet.

              I don't want to brag about my stupid accomplishments.

              "I did this, I did that." It's...

              Your Honour, enough is enough. If he won't accept a plea...

              - I suggest all charges be dropped. - Substantial jail time...!

              One moment, Bob. Did you say, "Drop the charges"?

              I think that was me, yeah.

              "Drop the charges."

              Approach the bench. Please.

              Do you get your pants custom tailored?

              You probably have to, with a set of balls that big.

              Drop the charges? What a set they must be!

              Huge and shiny, I'll wager. I've always wanted balls like that.

              Where did you get yours? We'll talk more later.

              For now, get back to that spot!

              Now, you can demand a trial

              or in lieu of a plea, you can accept the recommendation of this court.

              What this court recommends is that you, the defendant,

              Tom Turner, AKA, Tom the Preacher,

              Tom the Con and Tom the Worm,

              you, sir, have one week to find a job.

              A real job. Nine to five, five days a week, for a year.

              Nine to five? That seems a bit excessive.

              If this record showed you were selling drugs as well...

              - His punishment is to get a job? - In my opinion, we should cane him!

              Do you have any idea how hard honest, working people break their backs

              to earn the dollars out of which you so blithely con them?

              I implore you, take this opportunity to use the innocent apple-pie face

              and the fine mind God has obviously given you,

              for something better, for something decent,

              for all the people whose trust you've crushed.

              By the way, if you choose not to work, you will go to jail.

              So, which will it be?

              OK, so, it's jail or... What was the other one?

              I hate the Post Office during the holidays. It's a zoo!

              I've been here an hour to buy three stamps!

              - I'm looking for Guy Turner. - Behind the yellow line. Got to go.

              I just have a question. I've walked around here for    minutes...

              You have to stand behind the line!

              No, I'm not a yellow-liner. I'm here...

              I cannot help you till you stand behind the yellow line!

              - Next. - I've dealt with your type before!

              - I will speak to your supervisor! - I almost had to help a customer!

              I'm in Sorting. This is Monica. Bye.

              - Hello, Monica. - Hi.

              I'm having an extraordinarily crazy day. I need to find...

              Behind the yellow line, please.

              You're kidding, right?

              - Listen to me! - God! Postal police!

              No. We don't need... Cousin Guy.

              How much postage for this bike?

              Cousin Guy, I really appreciate you getting me this job.

              The only reason I'm doing this is cos of your mom, you know.

              Before she went away,

              I promised her I'd look after you. So I got you in.

              But if you screw up, I don't know you. You got me?

              - I got you. - Meet your boss, Vladek Vidov.

              Your cousin is very great man.

              This is Barney machine.

              Main conveyor belt for sorting all mail.

              Salute to modern technology.

              You know why they call it Barney?

              - Cos it's purple? - You been here before?

              - No. - Yes, purple, like dinosaur,

              but bigger than dinosaur.

              Ramon! No, no, please!

              Safety first. No, no. Don't.

              Don't do this. Please.

              Sit. Sit. "Descanso." Rest.

              His first day as casual. The guys told him that "fragile"

              is postal for "throw hard against wall and bounce into bin".

              Mary, please, explain to Ramon what means fragile.

              OK. Who's that?

              Tom. Mary and Wendy, two of our best sorters.

              - Right, we met upstairs. - They read difficult handwriting.

              - What did you mean by casual? - A temp. Like you.

              Which is why you did not have to take exam,

              which is a ball-buster, pardon the expression.

              We hire you for Christmas then let you go.

              I'm sure the posh environment here has stimulated many a casual to ask,

              "What if I wanted to stay longer? Maybe a year?"

              A year? We'll see.

              This is your new home.

              - The DLO. - No way.


              Everyone, this is Tom.

              He's playing with channel changer, not gun.

              That's Claudio Gomez, they call him Handsome.

              And that's Dooly. Don't call him anything.




              So, please, let's give him warm Dead Letter Office welcome. Come.

              You know, I actually might...

              Might be better off...


              Coffee break! New guy gotta watch the office.

              - It's tradition. - But I don't know how...

              I'm on my break, sugar.

              Come. This is your desk.

              Idris, right? I'm not really up on religion.

              Is this purgatory or did I die and go straight to hell?

              Getting warm. This is the DLO, the Dead Letter Office.

              All these letters are hopeless, lost, undeliverable, unreturnable.

              We gather the dead, put them in boxes, put the boxes in bins.

              - Are you just on for the holidays? - I'm two months from my   th year.

              Then I'm outta here, gone.

              -    years? - Yep.

              I couldn't raise my family as a musician.

              Couldn't raise myself as a musician.


              One year.

              Piece of cake.

              Bin A, if it's returnable,

              which it never is, cos if Whispering Wendy can't decipher the writing...

              No one can. Bin B. Blurred. Smudged.

              Torn or, excuse me, just too cruddy.

              Bin D, wrong address.

              No return, wrong return. People who don't know where they live. Pathetic.

              Bin E. No state.

              No clue, no hope for you.

              Ready to try, new guy?

              Yeah, sure. No problem.

              Let's see... Bin D. Wrong address.

              Negatory. Not just wrong, but Bin B.

              Smudged and torn.

              - God! - Sugar, it's not that hard.

              No. This is addressed to a Mr God.

              Easy. He gets a lot. We put all the "Dear God" mail over here.

              In the loony bin.

              Bin C.

              Subdivided into loony bin boxes. We got one for Superman, Elvis,

              the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny and God.

              And any kind of Martian.

              All yours, new guy!

              Now don't forget, Santa Claus has his own bin over here.

              Don't nod at me on your first day.

              I gotta get to know you.


              Just cos you live across the street doesn't mean you can come and ogle.

              - What's the new manager's name? - Gloria McKinney.

              She created great new recipes for me.

              Don't even think about it. You're not imposing yourself on that girl.

              One Banana Karenina coming up.

              Morning, all. Theo, one Colombian to go.

              - Who's that? - Joey's mine and Josh is his friend.

              Joey, nice-Iooking... turkey, Santa Claus-thing you got there.

              - He hates Christmas in California. - Why's that?

              Well, Jersey has snow and everything.

              OK, time to go. It's late. Joey, I'll walk you to school. Get your coat.

              Heard you got busted.

              What? No. That was this acting thing I did.

              A crime re-enactment for TV. A cable syndication thing.

              I'm just a little curious. Does anybody buy your BS?

              Lately? No. But I did get a job with the US Post Office.

              Honest, I've been there a week. Even bought new shoes. Look.

              - Nice. - Aren't those great?

              I heard it was the Post Office or jail.

              - How does everybody know my life? - Well, I knew about it.

              - You know I work at the Post Office? - Yeah. We heard.

              All our friends in Indiana know you work here.

              Junior is afraid you won't make enough to pay him.

              Tell him to take a Prozac. He can have my first paycheque.

              Well, buddy, we know where to find you.

              - "Kirkland asleep?" - "Out like a light."

              I'm a much better actor than those guys.

              This guy can't act.

              You ever read these Dear God letters?

              No. Me and God have an agreement.

              I leave His mail, He leaves my "Soap Opera Digest."

              - Are you a postal cop? - No.

              "Dear God, we've gone on rent strike at the Normandy Arms

              but we still don't have running water or hallway lights."

              "Before the winter rains come,

              I'd like to cover the broken window in my boy's room with plastic

              and somehow get hot water. Thank you, Lord, for your help."

              "Yours sincerely, Marguerite.  F."

              The eagle has landed!

              - What've you got there? - Nothing.

              What the hell's going on here? Is this a fire drill?

              Excuse me. Hi. You mentioned the eagle. Is that important?

              It is to me. After I crashed and burned as a lawyer,

              I had to find something less stressful.

              What we workaholics, yes, my name is Rebecca and I am a workaholic,

              call a recovery job. I have my serenity and I'm still able...

              I'm still able to do pro bono work.

              Excuse me. But what does it mean, "The eagle has landed"?

              That means it's pay day.

              Whispering Wendy Smith.

              Wendy Smith? No? We lost cheque.

              You know, Whispering Wendy.

              Hold on. Can't locate Smith? OK.

              Dooly. Herman Dooly. Thank you.

              Smith? OK, good.

              What is with that guy?

              Dooly's our other burnout.

              Behind this one?

              Dooly was a carrier. Memorised the entire Los Angeles phone book.

              Then one day, he snapped. Bit a dog.

              Ramon. Can I get to the Dead Parcel Room this way?

              - Dead Parcel? - Dead Parcel. Where's Vladek?

              Vladek is smoking!


              Tom. Did you cash your cheque?

              Yeah, I actually thought this would be a little more.

              Gross. People think we swim in sea of gross

              but we are caught in net of net.

              Taxes. That's what everybody complains about.

              - What? - That's what every... Never mind.

              Come. I take you to Dead Parcel Room. Getting off.

              Dead bracelets, dead Rolex...

              And why is all this here?

              All of this gets auctioned off but we cannot go. Why? Postal rules.

              After all, if employees could bid on lost parcels,

              there would be dramatic increase in undeliverable packages. You agree?

              That is why Big Brother is always watching.

              They deliver us from temptation.

              - There's people scoping us out? - Sometimes.

              Why sometimes? Am I asking too much?

              No. This is Mr Addison's shift.

              He's old, he naps.

              - It's a problem. - It's not easy for old people.

              You're good boy, Tom. Slow but good.

              I want you to memorise and learn all inventory for tracing purposes.

              Terrific! I was gonna ask, should I start in the back here or just...


              Thank you, God.

              That's not too gaudy.

              - Tom? - Guys, where you been?

              What are you doing?

              I was just running a trace on something.

              Well, hurry. Idris has to lock up. Tracing? What tracing?

              I found this package in there.

              A bunch of junk, really.

              Some of it's kind of nice. It's going to Normandy.

              Normandy Arms.  ...  F.

              I thought if could find the right...

              I learned all this here, you know. Just find... There it is.


              "Tom, how did you learn all that?" I looked it up earlier.

              Probably one of those stupid things kids are doing these days.

              What are they called? Care packages. I'll send it out later.

              Ramon is making his rounds now.

              Perfect. That guy's like clockwork.

              - Morning pick-ups. - That's very good, Tom.

              Bring the dead back to life, like postal resurrection.

              - Yes! - It's not that funny.

              - No. Sucking up to the boss. - That's funny.

              Come, we take coffee break. I buy you "varushka."

              Is Russian pastry, very delicious.

              - Make your teeth sticky. - I'll buy, Vladek.

              Let me get my cash. I'll see you down there.

              Alright. Yes. I see you in eating place. Cafeteria.



              - You picked up mail from the DLO? - Yeah,

              I fed it to Barney just a second ago. Right over there.

              Get away! Get out of here.

              Get off!


              Marvellous catch! Listen.

              Let's say somebody accidentally mails a letter but it's in the building...

              Once it's mailed, it's gone. Overnight!


              Hold the truck, please. No! Mail mistake.

              And now, our last Normandy Arms rent striker, Marguerite.

              My name is Marguerite Duvalier. I live in  F.

              There are many, many problems here.

              The worst thing is the security door.

              There is no lock. It just swings open and closed, open and closed.

              Please, come up and sign the petition.

              Your signature counts.

              Normandy Arms people unite.

              It's our money now, not yours, copper.

              So get lost, Five- !

              Do I know you?

              - Mother! - No.

              - Mother! - Yes, my baby, what is it?

              Hi. We may have a slight postal problem.

              A small investigation may be necessary.

              No, don't worry, honey. We don't have to give back the money.

              It was delivered already? I mean, money?

              My mama needs the money, now get lost!

              - It's official business, kid. - Quiet.

              God is looking out for us.

              Isn't he?


              Yes. I mean, you know, I think actually I got the wrong building.

              - Correct! - Correct. OK.

              Cute. He's very cute. Adorable.

              Very talkative. Thank you. Your son ought to run the rent strike meeting.

              Kid buried me. Stupid hat buried me. Now Junior's gonna bury me.

              - Marguerite. - What is it, Rebecca?

              - You know that guy? - Who, him?

               After Marguerite told me about you,

               I started reading  some God letters myself.

               I would like to help you  with your mission of mercy.

              What's the best way for me to put this?

              You are seriously deranged. I was not there on a mission of mercy.

              I wasn't delivering money.

              I was trying to get it back and screw over those poor people.

              I saw how happy you were when that little boy looked at you.

              You seriously don't understand.

              I didn't want the money to go to that obnoxious, pushy little kid.

              It was supposed to go to my obnoxious, pushy loan shark.

              Sure. You mailed it by accident. That's right.

              Complete coincidence that I'm advising tenants on a rent strike

              and you just happen to be delivering Marguerite her money.

              There are no accidents.

              You did something good and selfless.

              Together, we can make that happen again.

              I wanna show you something.

              It's a letter.

              - It's in Spanish so I'll translate. - Is this long?

              "Dear God, my little girl will be nine next week."

              "Doctors say it may be her last birthday."

              "All she wants for her birthday is to ride a horse."

              "I live in East LA. We don't have many horses here."

              "Angela doesn't ask for much and she is very brave."

              "Please give her this wish. Here is her drawing. Thank you, Juanita."

              She doesn't draw very well.

              - Three eyes. - That's a nose.

              - Isn't she sad? - No.

              OK, she's sad. What do you want me to do about it?

              Some poor soul asks God for a hand-out,

              so I'm meant to produce a miracle? No, that's not in my job description.

              OK. So, where do we start?

              You wanna do this kid a favour?

              I say we write her a letter back from God and say,

              "Life sucks and it's probably not going to get any better."

              Maybe I misjudged you.

              That's exactly what you've done.

              No offence, Rebecca, but I got my own sad, serious problems.

              No, that's fine. I'll take care of her myself.

              Who said I needed your help anyway?

              Dooly! Did you ever deliver East LA?

              Course I did. Till that toad demoted me down to this pit.

              Said I had an attitude problem. What's that supposed to mean?

              Let it go. Do you remember any schools with the zip code      ?

              I remember more schools than that numb-nuts that took over my route.

              I'll give you schools. Public. First Street Elementary,

              Fourth Street Elementary, Hollenback Junior.

              OK, Dooly, we'll get that on paper and I can find her myself.

              Look, the sign says "Ride the pony". It does not say "Pose with the pony"!

              It's a figure of speech! It's just a sign!

              Look, Mr Eduardo is very tired. He's resting. He's very famous.

              He was in "Treasure of Sierra Madre." He worked with Humphrey Bogart.

              You have to let her ride it! I paid you!

              Look how happy she is sitting. Let her sit! This isn't a dude ranch!

               Que burro! She doesn't want to ride that.

              It's a donkey, not a horse.

              I know. It's an awful, awful donkey!

              - I got a watch looking for a wrist. - I got seven watches. Look!

              Your wrist needs a security alarm.

              You can't take my money and not give me anything.

              I'm giving you a passport to the wondrous world

              of Ziggy's Petting Zoo. Now go pet Goosey Gander!

              Alright, sweetheart, let's pet the goose.

              Mister, your duck is dead.

              - Dead? Gimme my money back. - She can still pet it.

              - You don't understand. - Excuse me. Can I have your name?

              - I beg your pardon? - Your name, please.

              My name is Zigmond Decker.

              As I thought. I'm Inspector Anderson, from the US Petting Zoo Bureau.

              - We have a Bureau? - Yes, we do.

              The rumour about the duck? It's alive.

              Yeah? Look at that, pal. We've been investigating you, sleazebag.

              - You were hustling this lady. - Thank God you came, Officer!

              - Please! Step away. - Step over here. Hustling?

              Does this look like hustling?

              Here's your money. Is that hustling? Happy?

              Listen, Zeitgeist, next time, I bust you and your pets. Dead or alive.

              I know the badge is fake but I'll do anything to get rid of her mouth.

              - Fair enough. - Kid, wanna pet a chicken?

              - The duck moved! It's alive! - Come on.

              - Olvera Street for horses? - She lives down the block.

              I was going to take them to Griffith Park.

              Forget Griffith Park.

               You want a place with horses?  I'll take you to a place with horses.

               It's nice out here, right?

               Trees, grass, stables.

               I paid for most of it.

              Good girl. Yeah.

              I was right about you!

              No, you weren't.

              Good boy.


              Well, I gotta go meet some associates.

              Mr Tom.

              I can't thank you enough. You are a very nice man.

              - Hello, Tom! - Junior! This is all I got.

              You won't believe what happened to my paycheque. Amazing.

              - This won't buy my dinner! - That's for sure.

              You're soft. If you're gonna welch on people, you should stay in shape.

              Haven't seen you at the gym lately.

              - Show time! - Tommy.

              OK, here comes Mommy. There she is.

              She's gonna take care of her little baby.

              - Is that a racehorse? - No, honey.

              That mother is an exercise horse.

              - He owes me money! - He'll have it by Saturday.

              I know him. He's trustworthy. He's from Indiana, bro.

              We are so lucky to have seen that, aren't we?

              Let's go find Tom. You got to ride a horse. We made that happen for you.

              Didn't we? There you are! How'd the meeting go?

              We wrestled with a few really bad ideas.

              You missed the whole thing. She got to ride all around the track,

              we saw the cutest baby horse, and the trainer gave her a souvenir.

              OK, that's where Tom took us after the petting zoo.

              - What's a petting zoo? - My apartment, every night.

              That's the happy little girl. That's Angela.

              That's the little baby that was born when we were there.

              It's amazing how nature works.

              Yeah, many animals stand up minutes after they're born.

              - I don't think he's gonna make it. - It's a little girl.

              I've done that before!

              It's not easy getting off the ground.

              But the momma's helping. It's a lot easier when you have a family.

              - Happy Thanksgiving. - Happy Thanksgiving.

              There he is. Tom.

              Tom, we were talking, and we thought

              that maybe there were more things we could do with the God letters.

              - Why? - Cos I been here    years,

              and all I ever thought about is lunch and clockin' out.

              - So we want to help, Tom. - I really don't think so.

              See, the haves help the have-nots,

              and I hate to disappoint you, but we're the have-nots.

              So what? There are a lot of reasons to do things.

              And the best one is do it for God. He could use a little help.

              Postal workers could use a better image!

              Yeah. Everybody thinks I'll lose it and take 'em out with an AK  . Crazy!

              They do it for God, we do it for the postal worker.

              What do you say, Tom? Are you in?


              - Did you really bite a dog? - Just in the knee.

               As day ends, I wish those of you  finishing up work now,

               and those of you  who will have punched out early,

               a happy Thanksgiving tomorrow  and a weekend of reflection

               on how much we have  to be thankful for.

              You know I'm nuts?

              I'm alright till I start thinking about these people.

              Depending on me for their cheques,

              hoping I don't deliver them a bill from the IRS,

              or a kiss-off from a girlfriend, or a jury-duty notice.

              Dooly, you're not nuts.

              You know why? I don't care, that's why.

              I used to care. I start to care a little, though, and I can't stop.

              It's like with those addresses.

              Or with catalogues. You ever tried to deliver all them catalogues

              in them tiny mail slots they got in them apartment mail boxes?

              You gotta fold 'em, put 'em in there nice for people.

              For some people, that's the only mail they ever get.

              Nobody ever said thank you, though.

              Boy, you bite one dog and they don't let you up.

              "Here comes Dooly. Woof, woof."

              You just can't care, that's all.

              I care about myself. Everything else is just an act.

              You come to the right place.

              You know something?

              Sometimes, I go for months and I don't look in a mirror,

              and then I glance in one and I don't even recognise myself.

              When I had my route, I'd used to look in this mirror every morning,

              straighten my uniform, make sure I was sharp.

              I knew everybody on my route.

              I loved that route.

              Don't get me wrong.

              This don't mean we're like friends or nothin'.

              No, of course not.

              Yeah, well.

              I'm gonna punch out.

              They said you wouldn't use the seeing-eye dog, or even meet him.

              Sorry I haven't been more often.

              It's not the first time this year, is it?

              It's just I've been busy. I'm doing some consulting.

              Freelance. I have more work than I can handle.

              Had to bring in a staff of    for the holidays. You believe that?

              - Would you cut the shit, Tom? - Can't get anything by you, can I?

              Never stops you from trying.

              - Ma... - Like father, like son.

              I want you to be proud of me. I do.

              It's just, what are the odds on that happening?

              Still gambling? Still playing the horses?

              You know, I do actually have a job at the Post Office.

              Cousin Guy set it up.

              - I had a dream you were coming. - Please, Mom, no dreams.

              You were with this woman.

              She was not from the Midwest but she was nice. She could cook.

              There was a kid, too. Who's that?

              I have no idea, Ma.


              This is my no-good son. Gettin' married.

              Yeah, we've met. Congratulations.

              Gonna take me to meet his wife at Christmas, right, Tom?

              Yeah, Mom, that's right. I promise.

              Ma, you haven't seen me in a while.

              Check me out. Touch my face, the way you used to.

              - Try it. I love when you do that. - No.

              Come on, lighten up, it's the holidays.

              Alright. Bend over here.

              Yeah, you've changed... Tom! What have you done to yourself?

              It's Gerard, Ma.

              It was your son's idea.

              - It was his idea. - Come here, you.

              - It was his. - You got me, didn't you?

              I gotcha.

               "Dear Dad,  Mom wouldn't let me wait any longer. "

               "Meet us at Miniature Golf Land,  in Santa Monica,

               like you always do. Love, Joey. "

               "Gloria, why are you here?"

              "Me? I'm in the miniature golf tournament."

              God, that sounds bad.

              "I saw you from the freeway." No wonder I'm single.

              - Hi. - Tom!

              - Yeah. Happy Thanksgiving. - Happy Thanksgiving.

              I went by the store

              and I just saw Joey's note to his dad.

              I didn't know he was back in town.

              Just... I'm kind of in the mood to see a family playing together.

              God, does that sound stupid?

              Well, look, Joey's dad,

              my ex, isn't coming.

              Then why did...?

              He showed up Thanksgiving a couple of years ago

              and took us to play golf and so,

              now Joey thinks every year he's gonna show up. But he isn't.

              Well, do you mind if I join you?

              I'll keep score.

              Why don't you ask Joey?

              - Hello. - Are you a stranger?

              I'm that forgettable? You remember me!

              - Tom? - Yes. Shall we make it a threesome?

              You know how to play?

              I used to. Kind of. I took it up on the weekends

              when I got the urge to wear ridiculous clothing.

              To tell the truth, I like baseball and basketball better.

              But with baseball and basketball, if you gamble, you get big trouble.

              So, that's why they invented golf.

              Like most miniature golf courses on Thanksgiving, it's virtually empty.

              OK. I'll hold your cotton candy.

              - Definitely off his game today. - He's nervous. Or something.

              I think it's too much cotton candy.

              There it is! Good job!


              OK. Ready?

              OK. Do your thing.

              I don't know why he's playing so badly tonight.

              - Get in your proper stance. - Mom, I'm OK.

              - I know. - Mom, I'm gonna do great this hole.

              Mom, I am. I'm going to do so good, I bet you    cents I make it.

              - Joe, we don't gamble. - Come on, Mom!

              OK.    cents. And that's it.

              Get in there! Get in there!

              - I did it! - That is improvement.


              Great shot.

              Probably just kid's luck. Wanna bet a dollar next hole?

              Go get your ball, Joey.

              You taught my kid to hustle.

              Hustle! Miniature golf.

              Miniature golf. What's next, tether ball?

              I don't get it. Why else would you play the game?

              For fun! You know, no salary, no bets, no angles.

              You just play for the pure joy of playing the game.

              - You mean like the Olympics? - Yes. Didn't you ever do that?

              Not that I remember.

              Olympic people end up selling their medals to pawn shops.

              You are something else. Always working something. Like tonight.

              - What about tonight? - You saw Joey's note to his dad.

              You decided to come play the hero. Wasn't that your angle?

              - There's no angle. - Come on.

              There was no angle.

              It's just not the easiest thing to be alone on Thanksgiving.

              I'm not alone. I have my son, OK?

              I wasn't talking about you.

              Thanks for joining us tonight.

              Why don't you come down the shop and have a latte? On me.

              Thanks again and happy Thanksgiving.

               So we're gonna try again, Tom.

              - No. - Nine for God.

              I am not in charge of the loony bin, alright? I'm not!

              "I'm not." He's not in charge of the loony bin!

              OK, fine. Just so I'm absolutely clear,

              this is about everybody wanting to be a hero, right?

              Better than sorting.

              When I get my audition, I'm gone. Till then...

              The have-nots have got to do it.

              The haves haven't helped anybody but themselves since the '  s!

              And you all realise we can get in trouble for this.

              How many laws does this violate, Rebecca?

              - A lot. - Hear that? A lot. Correct.

              - Tom... - What?

              - More volunteers for God's work. - You've got to be kidding me!

              Alright, we do one. But we've got to keep this quiet.

              It would be really bad if I lost my job.

              - Who's this? - She's Jane. She's hearing impaired.


              Hi. OK.

              Mary, can you distract today's spy?

              Distract? I am good distraction! OK.

              Has anyone ever actually met the spies?

              Hope we never do.

              Idris, you pray the most. You pick one.

              No. I'm one month away from the Promised Land,

              and I'm taking no chances, thank you.

              Let me do it, Captain.

              My mother was a bingo caller at church. It's in my genes.

              Our first miracle!

              Let Lucille read it. She is the closest to God.


              Out loud.

              "Dear God, living alone this past year has been hell

              and that's probably where I'll end up if you don't forgive me

              for what I'm about to do."

              "I know it's a sin to take your own life." Yes, it is.

              "But honest, God, I feel my life is meaningless to everyone."

              "So on Sunday, I shall go to your place of worship

              and then a final plunge at noon."


              Jammy? Janey? Jean?

              Let me see it. Let me see. Look how shaky the handwriting is.

              It could be Jimmy, Jenny...

              - Juanita. - Jose.

              - Hymie. - Hymie?

              So, we know it's either a man or a woman.

              That's good. At least we know it's not a giraffe.

              This one's too hard. Get an easy one.


              The deaf girl wants quiet.

              She's right. She said you tell us what to do, Tom,

              - since you did it before. - No, I didn't do it.

              Here, Tom.

              I can't even... Wendy, can you...?

              Can you decipher this?

              It's a man. Jemi. He's older.

              I think she said older man. Check the postmark.

              Yep.      . That's Santa Monica district.

              There's a cemetery there. There should be a place of worship.

              - Good. We show this to the clergy... - Could be a mosque, synagogue.

              - Right. Mosque, synagogue. - Write it down. Write it down!

              You got your Baptist, Our Lady of Grace, Christian Science...

              - Dooly, you were in the military. - Right.

              Get one of those Santa Monica maps, coordinate everybody.


              An assignment. Right.

              Temples and mosques on Saturday, then we do churches Sunday morning.

              - I think I care again. - Are you gonna be alright?

              One of our postal customers is in danger.

              Thanks, Mrs Alcot, for letting us use your coffee shop.

              Listen up, everybody. Alright. OK.


              Santa Monica,  :  am.

               At  :  am,    


               When we serve a higher being,  are we not, in truth,

              in the highest sense, serving ourselves?

              Jemi. Is there a Jemi something or someone Jemi in your congregation?

              There'll be a day you need a saviour.

              You think you don't need a master but you do!

              And yet we don't need to see our eyebrows to know that they are there.

              And we don't need to see the light to know that it is there.

              And as we approach the holidays, we come closer to our families...

              - Hang on! What? - People here want to contemplate.

              You got it, Mrs Alcot.

              Handsome, listen, I can't talk loud. People here wanna contemplate.


              Yeah! They buy one of them latte things and stare at each other.

               When you go to sleep at night,

              you believe you'll wake up in the morning.

              What if you went to sleep and began to wonder whether you'd wake up?

              Which brings me to Doubting Thomas. Our old friend Doubting Thomas.

              He was lost...

               Tom, listen. Wendy's got something.

               Tom, you gotta hurry back here.

               Wendy, I really need to hear this  so speak up.

              - What did you find here? - The letter has an S I didn't see.

              - What did she say? - She found Jemi's ass.

              He did a unique thing on the tail on "place". It's places of worship.

              I didn't see the S because I didn't have my glass. Not place, places.

              Several religious places in one compact area. Like the Vatican.

              Does it even make any difference? We got    minutes.

              Then somebody's just gonna die because we lost him.

              I got it. But I'm not helping, I'm just hanging out.

               There's a group of  three-dimensional tableaux

               put up by various churches  in Santa Monica. Religious places.

              They're right there.

              Alright, Wendy, Rebecca, we'll check it out. You guys watch the phones.

              Stop the car! Behind the manger, that's Look Out Point.

              - We've no time to sightsee. - That's where people jump from!

              - How do you know that? - Cos I dated a guy that jumped.

              - What time is it? - Is it noon yet?

              We blew it.

              We blew our first miracle.

              Is there a splattered body anywhere or has a car flattened the sucker?

              I can't look.

              No, I will look. I am good enough to look.

              It could be Jemi headed into the water!

              - Wendy, I actually heard you! - A plunge in the water!

              That's him! That's gotta be!


              Don't do it! Jemi!

              He's gonna drown!

              This guy has officially become a pain in the ass.

              They're both gonna drown!

              - What do you want? - We got your letter.

              - What letter? - To God.

              - You're not God! - Not even close.

              Not much of a swimmer either, really.

              I'll go. Be brave.

              I'll go find towels.

              We need to borrow towels! There's someone in the water!

              I got you. Maybe not.

              More towels! Sir, please! Sir!

              Two more. There.

              I gotcha.

              Napkins. Great. Coming!


              It's so dangerous. I was gonna go in there

              and then I had to get the towels.

              There were three. Wendy, you're really wet.

              There you go.

              You poor thing.

              Why did you do that?

              It's my job at the Post Office.

              We don't like citizens in the water. Makes it hard to deliver mail.

              Why did you do that?


              My wife died last Christmas.

              All my friends are dead.

              Anybody I can talk to is dead.

              I wanted to be with my Ann and my friends. You stopped me.

              - Why? - Maybe the reward is in the caring.

              - You don't even know me! - So you'll do this again tomorrow?

              - Probably, yeah. - We only do rescues on our day off.

              He's kidding. Of course we'll rescue you.

              But could you give us an idea of the time?

              No! That's good. You can spend the rest of the day

              not butting into other people's business.

              He lost his wife and friends. That's so depressing.

              Did I tell you I was a recovering workaholic?

              - Rebecca, more towels. - OK.

              If you were going to kill yourself, why write to God? Why not just do it?

              There is nothing wrong

              with people choreographing their own ending.

              A lot of people do it. Even more people think about it.

              Didn't you ever think about it?

              Well, I guess I'm just curious to see how the hand plays out.

              I'm    years old!

              I don't have time for another hand to be dealt.

              - Maybe you need to meet someone. - Sure. Who would date me?

              I got brown spots all over.

              I got a voice like a loud snore.

              I got a lot of hair in my ears.

              Sure, who's gonna date me?

              Maybe a blind woman.

               If we're gonna keep the ball rolling,

               we thought we'd better come  up with a system. Mr Dooly?

              - Hats? - I get headaches. I can't wear hats.

              To people coming in, it looks like hats, but wait till you see this.

              Got 'em all categorised, people.

              Bin A, these are people's needs. Things, someone, food, love, a break.

              Bin B, places and what they need...

              "Dear God,

              my sister and I are nurses at a retirement home."

              "We read an article that said single people live longer

              when they have a pet to love and care for." Dooly, listen!

               "We've got the senior single people."

               "Can you supply the pets?  Thank you, Lori and Terri Nathan. "

              Hi, how are you?

              Darwin! He needs a home.

              This is Darwin. Best dog of the lot.

              Here, how about a nice kitty?

              No, Mr Raskin is allergic to cats. He can't have cats.

              - He ought to have a medical sign. - Forget that, go get Mr Raskin!

              - Tom. - Excuse me.

              Dooly! Dooly, are you completely psychotic?

              "Dear God..."

               "Well, I've got the twins, Lilly  and Charlotte. I thank you for them. "

               "But I didn't know it would be  such a job raising them!"

               "There's feeding, rocking, cleaning.  It's day and night,    hours. "

               "My husband, Kenny, works nights,  my in-laws live in Alaska

               and my parents haven't spoken to me  since I married Kenny. "

               "Please, I need a break.  Just one night to relax. "

               "Thank you, Crystal Fricker."

               "Dear God, I've tried to maintain

               our home, my kids and my work  since Alex died. "

               "You've always answered my prayers.  Thank you. "

               "I have a steady job  and happy, healthy kids. "

               "But when I get home  from cleaning at the hotel

               I don't have the energy  to do it again in my own home. "

               "Please give me strength  and patience with the kids

               when they make messes  and cause more work for me at home. "

               So, this the big date?

              There's no date. Sarah gave me the afternoon off,

              so I figured I'd test out some new recipes on him.

               If Sylvia Plath were alive today

               She'd put her head  in a microwave oven

              - I'll do that one tonight. - OK.

              Tom and I are going out but Rebecca will take you next door.

              You can play as many video games as you like then she'll take you home.

              - We'll have a good time, won't we? - Yes.

              - OK. - This isn't a...

              I know.

              Well, it's a beautiful day today, so you two have a lot of fun.

              Is she gonna do that all day?

              OK, here come the videos. Let's go.

              Charles, I owe you.

              Yeah. It's OK, Tommy.

              Just clean up after yourselves.

              You got about an hour.

              - How do you know that guy? - Gave him a tip on a horse.

              And he still let us in.

              - You're confusing me. - Why?

              We both know that you're a screw-up, but lately...

              Gloria, trust me, you can't trust me.

              That's what I thought. I believe you.

              Thank you very much.

              What did I promise you? A concert, a picnic and a dance.

              And that, my dear, is exactly what you shall have.

              So what about your father? I've only heard you talk about your mom.

              My dad couldn't cut it as a golfer so he became a golf hustler, I guess.

              This is my place.

              - Celebrity Apartments? - Yeah.

              - Do celebrities live here? - Yeah.

              None that you'd actually know, but a lot of international stars.

              Huge Honduran contingent. You're not coming, are you?

              - Tell me more about your father. - We've done this. He's a golfer.

              You told me your dad's a mortician. I didn't laugh.

              We talked about Indiana, New Jersey.

              I believe we're to the awkward groping part.

              Yeah, but you said, "I guess".

              So where's your dad?

              I don't know.

              Where is he?

              Well, when I was a kid, one morning, very early,

              I heard a noise downstairs.

              It was my dad. He was standing there,

              and he told me to close my eyes.

              I thought he had some sort of a surprise for me.

              When I opened them...

              ...he was gone.

              I never closed my eyes again.

              Sorry you asked, right?

              - And you never heard from him? - No, I never did.

              It's still early. You should check the place out.

              You'll feel so much better about your own place.

              I think I'd like to feel awkward in private.

              Just for a few minutes, though.

              It's right here. It might be on the messy side.

              - I'm sure it's fine. - More company, Tom?

              - I won't tell "The Enquirer." - Thanks, Otis.

              I won't tell "Unsolved Mysteries" about you.


              Somebody really trashed the place.

              The fish are OK.

              Who's Junior?

              Someone determined to ruin our evening.

              I'm sorry.

              It's just stuff.

              Yeah, well, it's the only stuff I own.

              Possessions are chains.

              A free man owns nothing.

              You don't really believe that.

              You want me to say you don't have a pot to piss in?

              Like they say, no good deed goes unpunished.

              Would you mail this for me? Word is, you have a lot of pull with the man.

               "God, the big guy in the sky."

                - Would you? - We'll take care of it.

                - Thank you. - I gotta get some breakfast.

                Why would they break my eggs? It makes no sense.

                - Don't we know each other? - I don't think so. I'm here a lot.

                I love this neighbourhood. I love the ambience, the milieu.

                 "Dear God, my horn is in hock."

                 "The pawn shop  will only hold it a few more days. "

                 "I'm desperate for a horn."

                 "Any horn. I need to play!  Randy Sky Tyler. "

                 Here are today's announcements.  All the clerks selling Elvis stamps

                 are not permitted to dress like him.

                No, not there! Throw it here. Like me.

                You? Like that?

                No, not at me! Like me.

                - You like me? - No. Get away!

                No, no. Like me.

                I don't see why you can't do your nails at the end of the day.

                Tom, you just don't understand nails.

                Changing shift.

                You had some visitors again.

                 Alright, everybody, let's Macarena.

                 Come on up, I'm having a party.

                 "Dear God, a friend of ours  was burglarised last night. "

                 "He doesn't deserve much,  but what the hell, it's Christmas. "

                 "Whatever you find for him  has to be better

                 than his old stuff,  which he is better off without. "

                 "Signed, everyone but Tom."

                 Our letters are getting to God

                 and, for that, I am very grateful.

                 They are getting to God faster  than they're getting to my sister.

                 Coupled with an article  in today's "El Periodico"

                 about this girl  and her letter to God,

                 some are calling it  The Case of the Postal Miracles.

                 This is Andre James signing off.

                Yo, cowboy, take it easy! It was Junior's idea to trash this place.

                Dude! Are you boffing the cleaning lady or something? Nice pad!

                Hurry up and beat me up, Webster. I gotta get some sleep.

                Food, dude!

                Listen, man, there ain't gonna be any beating. Junior's dead.

                He's dead?

                I can't believe it. Heart attack, right?

                I knew he needed to lose a few pounds.

                Nope. Got hit by a bus. Did a lot of damage to the front end.

                So, happy holidays!

                Don't mess with my head.

                So, what? I'm off the hook now? I'm officially debt-free?

                Right. But first things first.

                Tonight, you and me are gonna make party like old times!

                Wait. Get your own. This is my chaser.

                That is, if you can still party.

                I heard you and some postal buddies have been doing some good deeds.

                You are kidding, right?

                This is my greatest hustle of all time, Webster.

                Eventually, people will send money through the mail,

                I'll take the money out, pay off whoever you work for,

                and you can get your boots off of Lucille's blanket.


                I brought in a horn.

                Don't tell me. We're gonna start the DLO marching band?

                No, it's for Randy, the homeless guy.

                 I got a problem. He can't know  where it came from. He's too proud.

                 Make a fake notice-of-delivery slip.  He can pick it up himself.

                - "Pertect." - "You're starting to participate."

                 No, just helping a fellow musician.

                I'm Emanda Maine at the Central Post Office

                as crowds gather for some sign of a miracle in their lives.

                Doug Diamond at LA Post Office with people in search of miracles.

                People of all shapes and sizes.

                Police feel it could turn into a logistical nightmare.

                Can we go again? I have a hair issue.

                As a retired juggling motorbike hoodlum, what are you praying for?

                - I need a new hog. - Stories of hope.

                This one is from a homeless guy living on Ocean Avenue.

                He says they really need food, boxes and cans this Christmas.

                    days till Christmas and  the holiday spirit is engulfing LA.

                 Emanda Maine has the update.


                 Among the usual holiday scenes,  a wave of kindness is going on.

                 For instance, a Salvation Army  post was robbed.

                 People heard about it  from the Post Office

                 and contributed toys  to make up for the stolen ones.

                 A leaflet told Santa Monica  homeless people

                 Santa Claus would bring canned food.

                 Nobody thought Santa  would be coming but...

                He is coming!

                 I'm Barbara Beck. Good evening.

                "Dear God, I am young, gifted and Latino,

                but the people on the soap operas,

                don't think I could play a WASP hunk opposite Susan Lucci."

                "Dear God, I need a jet-black turbo Saab    ."

                Of course you do, sir! Poor guy. Put him at the top of the list.

                Rebecca's rocking.

                "Dear God, I am sorry for my sins."

                "I have had my faith restored these last few weeks."

                "In honour of my patron saint, Paul,

                please accept this $     to use as you please."


                $    ? That could do somebody a lot of good.

                    ? Nobody ever sent that before!

                Let's add it to the    cents in the DLO fund.

                - Tom, tell us what we do with it. - You be in charge of the money.


                Let me think about this.

                 Attention, everybody. Be careful.

                 Some nut outside is baptising  our postal people on the head.

                Put it back. All of it.

                - Turn it in to the Financial Office? - If that's what you do.

                The man's an angel.

                This is the second time I've seen him return money.

                Tom Turner cannot be bought!

                It's a setup. They want to charge us with stealing cash from the mail.

                - A Federal offence. - Of course!

                You're an extraordinarily paranoid guy. I like that!

                It's a madhouse out there!

                Pushing, shoving, squeezing! I had a little fun!

                "Mucho mas" mail for Dear God.

                - Tom, what do we do now? - Now?

                Now we hang low for a while. See what they do if all this stops.

                You think if you guys stop, the letters will stop?

                We just got started here. We got all the bins organised and everything.

                OK, so we're clear? Low profile.

                Try not to do anything nice for a few days.

                I was beginning to care.

                You know, when you care, you're kind of rewarded for that.

                 With us tonight is Preston Sweeny,  US Postmaster General.

                 I'm sitting here in Washington DC,  very upset.

                 You don't think God  is really answering these letters?

                 I don't think so.

                 We have many rules  in the postal business.

                 But we have one ironclad rule.

                 You cannot open someone else's mail.

                 Doesn't matter who it's addressed to.  Elvis, God, the Easter Bunny.

                 You, Barbara. You can't open  other people's mail. That's the rule.

                 I vow we will find these people  and we will put them in jail!

                 Thank you, Mr Sweeny. This is  Barbara Beck saying goodnight.

                Thanks for helping with his homework.

                He's better at math than I am. It's frightening.

                OK, so clue me in. Are you going to jail?

                You afraid you'll have to dress in black

                and pine away in front of the prison?

                No, I just don't know how to bake a file into a bran muffin.

                I see. But it's safe to say

                that you were maybe thinking about it.

                - You can never tell. - You were considering it.

                - I saw that! - Yes.

                OK, say goodbye.


                - Thanks for doing my homework. - See you, buddy.

                - Good luck tomorrow. - Yeah.

                I saw that, too!

                 In front of the Post Office,  a frenzied make-me-a-miracle crowd

                 is being fired up by the   -degree  holiday heat wave in Los Angeles.

                It was not me. I swear on the Bible.

                Did you guys know we was on TV?

                They said we did    postal miracles since Friday.

                We're getting credit for miracles we didn't do.

                What is going on?

                - Don't you get it? - No.

                Well, they do. Faith, Thomas. Faith. People are helping people.

                Regular people are doing miracles all by themselves.

                And you started it. You should be proud.


                - Let's get to work. - Nice job, guys!

                Way to go! Thanks, Tom!

                Postal Police! Everybody, freeze!

                I am not illegal. I am Puerto Rican.

                That's him. But there must be a mistake.

                No, that's the guy.

                - Eye-dris Abraham? - Idris.

                Idris Abraham, you're under arrest. Cuff him good. Put him in the car.

                This is big mistake. We fix.

                Guy, what...?

                - This is great. Like being on "Cops." - Why are you...?

                How about that guy? Ten days left to his pension and he screws up.

                He forged a notice-of-delivery slip and we nailed him.

                Everybody, come, go back to work. Back!

                - "Father?" - "Wait, I remember you."

                You're the beeper man. You walked out on my sermon about Thomas.

                - You remember that? - Yeah.

                Comedians and priests, we never forget a walkout.

                While I'm here, out of curiosity,

                how did that sermon on Doubting Thomas end?

                Well, you know, Thomas found his belief again.

                Then, according to the version I like,

                Thomas became a wealthy architect. He moves to India,

                he meets this king, who gives him a ton of cash and says,

                "Build me a grand palace."

                That's it? The end?

                He spent every rupee of the king's fortune feeding the poor.

                - When the king found out... - He killed him. Sent his goons in.

                No. Thomas told him, "Instead of a palace on Earth,

                I've built you a palace in heaven."

                And then he killed him. I got it. Thank you.

                Can you hold this, please?

                Well, look, the king let Thomas go

                and Thomas spent the rest of his happy life sacrificing for others.

                - So Thomas conned the king, right? - No.

                No, the king was not conned.

                The king had faith. He believed.

                See, that's where I get confused.

                That's good. Confusion is good. Faith isn't arrived at easily.

                It's the struggle that gives it its power and its meaning.

                You still struggling?

                Every day. Yeah.

                When times are particularly trying,

                I try to act as if everything is as it should be, the way God intends it.

                And then, eventually, I get my faith back.

                What if you never had it to begin with?

                That's a big one, isn't it?

                I can't believe I'm doing this. My name is Rebecca.

                I'm pretending I remember how to be a lawyer, which I don't.

                Do they have anything on us? I mean, him?

                A trumpet. Some homeless musician got a horn from God.

                They traced it back to Idris, who's charged with tampering with the mail.

                He'll probably plea-bargain and throw our bodies on the spears! Ratfink!

                No. You didn't hear? No, he confessed.

                Confessed to what? He didn't do anything.

                They told him if he pleaded guilty, they'd drop the whole investigation.

                - But he's the only one not guilty. - I should not be saying this,

                but it doesn't exactly feel right to let him take the rap alone.

                I feel OK.

                I don't know what good it'd do for us to turn ourselves in.

                Now, Tom, what do you think?

                I think...

                ...I should have gone to jail in the first place.

                I'd have met a better class of people there.

                 A study shows  that approximately    percent

                 continue to believe  in a thing called miracles.

                 Faith is a natural response.  It is cynicism we learn.

                 Wait, we have a breaking news story.  Let's go to the LA Post Office.

                This is Tom Turner, a postal worker,

                with some new information on the God Squad Case. Mr Turner?

                Yeah, they arrested the wrong man. Idris Abraham was a scapegoat.

                - "Really?" - "He wasn't involved in any of this."

                - "And how do you know this?" - "Because I did it all."

                 Excuse me?

                I did it all. It was me.

                I did everything.

                I've got another client.

                 As we approach Christmas, the case

                 of the so-called Postal Miracles  takes another strange turn.

                 Previously arrested Idris Abraham has  been set free and given his pension,

                 while postal worker Tom Turner  has confessed

                 and been charged with answering  God's mail without authorisation.

                The Postal Miracle trial has taken a holiday high-speed lane

                through the overloaded court docket.

                Having dispensed with the arraignment, we are ready for trial.

                And the whole country is watching as the Post Office miracle workers

                take on the US Government in a modern-day David versus Goliath.

                Legal experts predict that, in this case, Goliath will win.

                I agreed to let you broadcast from here

                but you gotta work or I'll get fired. Pick up a brush. Grab the putty!

                I'm here for you.

                I meant to keep you guys outta here, so you could continue your work.

                I'm sorry.

                Mr Bacon?

                This court is now in session. Judge Kits Van Heynigan presiding.

                Stuart Banks, for the prosecution. For the defence, Rebecca Frazen.

                Excuse me.

                Pardon me.

                Excuse me. Stuart!

                Hi. When did you get out of the rubber bungalow?

                Good to see you. Gentlemen.

                - He knows you? - I used to live with him,

                in another life. A total sociopath.

                Not a problem.

                Your Honour, we are prepared today to charge one Mr Tom Turner

                with several counts of tampering,

                impersonating a Federal employee and theft of government property.

                Does the defence have an opening statement?

                Not at this time.

                I guess we never thought about who Tom was,

                or his people, or how God had contacted them.

                I thought he was a nice man, that Tom Turner.

                So you turned to Tom Turner?

                Well, no. I turned to God.

                What he did was very nice,

                but I don't know if what he did was right.

                Thank you. No more questions, Your Honour.

                The prosecution rests.

                OK, give it to me straight. Worst-case scenario.

                One to five years for every count, or every miracle.

                   miracles. You could get    years.

                We'll adjourn until   pm.

                Lunch. I gotta go.

                Can I have my son back now?

                 I'm outside the LA Federal Court,  where lawyers for the prosecution

                 and defence are locked  in contentious legal debate

                over the origins, motives and parties responsible

                in the so-called Postal Miracle trial.

                I've dealt with some of these attorneys.

                People, I've been to boxing matches that are more civilised.

                - You may be seated. - Mr Turner.

                Are there any witnesses for the defence?

                Witnesses? I don't even know where my lawyer is.

                We're here.

                We're here, Your Honour.

                We're all here.

                I was basically the ringleader.  El numero uno.

                 El hombre con los manos de piedra. I'm the one you're looking for.

                He was a pawn in the chess game of life.

                Why would a con like Tom Turner do good deeds?

                Think about it.

                - Did you talk them into this? - No. They all wanted to do it.

                Do you have to type while I'm talking?

                It was! It was Thursday. I threatened Tom.

                I said, "Either get in on this or I'll bite out your spleen!"

                Mr Dooly, do you really expect us to believe you're the enforcer type?

                Yeah. You got a problem with that, bobbing head?

                Wanna see? Wanna see me enforce something?

                I'd like to enforce you. Let's take it outside! Come on, let's go!

                I want this man removed from my courtroom.

                Take him out.

                I'll get you, you legal lump of lard!

                Lighten up here.

                You come down to the Post Office for stamps, you'll be in line a week.

                Now, Mr Vidov, if you would give us your impression of the defendant...

                I've lost the witness, Your Honour.

                No, right here. I lost pipe. I'm trying to stop smoking. I'm nervous.

                There's no smoking in the courtroom.

                No? OK.

                Now, if you would give us your impression of Mr Tom Turner.

                See, I do believe that God may or may not live in heaven...

                And you're going to heaven?

                I believe in Russian proverb.

                It says, you go to heaven for weather and hell for the company.

                - May I finish, please? - Knock yourself out.

                I do believe that God also lives within each of us.

                Is this going somewhere?

                Perhaps He does not live within lawyers.

                But I believe that God was speaking through Tom.

                Tom Turner made ordinary people do extraordinary things.

                We need this.

                As his supervisor, I covered up for him.

                Therefore, I am as guilty as him.


                Enough. Fine.

                Is there anybody else here who would like to confess?

                Is there anybody else here that the defence would like to blame?

                Maybe society at large?

                Maybe the media?

                Maybe, I don't know, Lex Luthor.

                Maybe Sacco and Vanzetti. Maybe Hannibal Lecter.

                Maybe the one-armed man. What the hell is going on?

                Now that I have your attention, Mr Banks,

                please proceed with a little more decorum,

                rather than this childish display of histrionics.

                Yes, Judge Kits Van Heynigan.

                The prosecution is finished with its cross-examination.

                It is so obvious this whole performance is just to impress me.

                Put your arm around me.

                - What? - Put your arm around me.

                Does the defence rest?


                Yes. Defence rests.

                In that case, Your Honour,

                the prosecution is ready to begin its summation.

                After a five-minute recess.

                 This may be the first time  a serial killer

                 has actually killed with poisoned  cereal. No one knows the motive.

                 And we have a bulletin in  the Who's Answering God's Mail case.

                That's right, Barbara.

                Experts are even more certain that the prosecution's case will prevail.

                It's defence attorney Rebecca Frazen's first time in the courtroom

                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

                 Joey and I think you did the right  thing and we're proud of you. "

                 "PS, I included something  to make you smile. "

                Here we are.

                I didn't know Rebecca had 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.

                 Outside the Federal courthouse,  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      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    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.

                I'll see you at work.

                You missed my speech.

                Way to go. I gotta see my buddy, the Postmaster General.

                It was a piece of cake. I think I might go to law school.

                The verdict is in. Not guilty.

                You didn't even write a Dear God letter!

                Mr Turner, if you don't come out here and wave, there'll be a riot.

                By the way, you won the bet. Steep odds.

                - You bet the bailiff on the verdict? - Just a silly side bet.

                There's Joey.

                - Hi, Mom. - There's my mom.


                He's got a girl with him.

                - Really? - Yeah.

                Close your eyes.

                Take a chance, Tom.


                 So the trial of Tom Turner ended but  the effects of the God Squad linger

                 through the holiday season  and, hopefully, even longer.

                 A side note.  Herman Dooly got his old route back

                 and returned to the neighbourhood  which had cost him his job.

                Hi, everybody, I'm back. I got my route back. I'm back.

                - Mr Roscoe, how are you? - Herman, how are you doing?

                Good to see you. Merry Christmas. Take care.

                Have a happy New Year.

                Hi, Mrs Cooper. Hi, Dee-Dee! How are you?

                - Welcome back. - Good to see you.

                Stay calm, Mr Dooly.

                Hi, Wallace.

                I'm sorry that I bit you in the knee.

                I was just under a lot of pressure at the time.

                It seemed like the thing to do.

                You were barking, too. So it was kind of...

                I don't want to lay no blame or nothing.

                Anyway, I'm sorry.

                See you around, pal.

                Happy holidays, Wallace!

                Mrs Morgan, got those cookies with the raisins?


Special help by SergeiK