GOD: A SKETCH IDEA

Subject: Good evening.

God: You're welcome, my son.

S: I beg your pardon?

G: You said, 'Good evening,' and I said, 'You're welcome.' I do the best I can.

S: Excuse me – you're God?

G: Bloody right, my son, the Holy Gaffer Himself. What's the matter with you, my son?

S: Nothing, it's just that…

G: Spit it out, mate. I can't liege around here indefinably, you know. My eyE is on flaming sparrow, my son. Do you realize I got to keep my minces peeled on a billion five hundred and thirty-three sparrows? Even they come in a hundred and fifty-odd varieties, that's not to mention all the hippos, badgers, parrots, water voles, et cetera, et cetera, what I created in my infinite wisdom and all. What's on your mind, son?

S: Nothing, it's just that I expected God to be something like… well, you know, like the illustrations in the Bible.

G: You expect me to go pouncing around with whiskers and a white frock, then? You think I'm hippie pooftah, mate?

S: No, it's just…

G: Only you don't want to get leery, son. I could smite you, if I so chose. I could give you a right smiting, son, plague of bleeding locusts… frogs and whatnots… In my infinite wisdom I could smite you with leprosy… so watch it.

S: No, it's just I imagined God would be…

G: More upper class, then? Well, I'm a working-class God, my son, built the bloody world in six days, I did, hand-built and all, put in every star with my own hands, craftsmanship. You don't get that kind of work these days… Now, be on your way before whatnots show up, my son.

Marty Feldman, in eyE Marty