Progress reports arriving. The farms of Aerilon are burning. The beaches of Canceron are burning. The plains of Leonis are burning. The jungles of Scorpia are burning. The pastures of Tauron are burning. The harbors of Picon are burning. The cities of Caprica are burning. The oceans of Aquaria are burning. The courthouses of Libran are burning. The forests of Virgon are burning. The Colonies of Man lie trampled at our feet.
These trees are a travesty on Christmas. Do you realize that all over the country farmers are going out into their own fields, chopping down their own trees, carrying them back to their own farmhouses, while in the kitchen the wives are baking the fruitcakes, mulling cider, stringing their own popcorn. These people are having a real old-fashioned Christmas. –He's been hitting the egg nog a little early, isn't he?
Gentlemen, I'm surprised at you. The American farmer didn't get where he is today by celebrating Christmas with phony trees and wax popcorn, plastic candy cane. Gentlemen, to the American farmer Christmas is real. He goes out with ax in hand, chops down his own tree, brings it back, garlands it with strings of popcorn from his own corn crib, makes cider from his own apple trees. And when Christmas carols ring out in the still of the night, he looks up to the sky and says, 'I'm proud to be an American farmer on Christmas.'