THE SCENE: A circular room cut deep into stone; magma pits bubble left and right, all is lit by roaring torches that cast dark, flickering shadows. In the center, the Cephalopod Throne.
THE CAST: PZ Myers broods on his throne, chin on fist. He glowers at a horde of SUPPLICANTS, bowing and scraping before him. Many are speaking at once, but all have the same concern.
SUPPLICANT: “O Lord PZ…”
SUPPLICANT: “…Great Lord PZ…”
SUPPLICANT: “…Lord PZ, do you ever…”
SUPPLICANT: “…ever worry…”
SUPPLICANT: “…worry that your puissant and uncompromising godlessness might…”
SUPPLICANT: “…might frighten…”
SUPPLICANT: “…drive away…”
SUPPLICANT: “…terrify…”
SUPPLICANT: “…terrify the religious moderates?”
SUPPLICANT: “O Lord?”
SUPPLICANT: “Perhaps you shouldn’t be so hard on the soft and unthreatening believers, who might also find goodness in science?”
SUPPLICANT: “Perhaps your atheism diminishes support for science education?”
