You know, Mary, I haven't had Christmas off in seven years. –Oh, that's terrible. –Well, it's not too bad. You get used to it. Christmas is just like any other day when you work in a newsroom. You know what I mean? –Uh, no. –Oh. You gotta work on Christmas. –I've got to work on Christmas? –Well, that's another way of putting it.
The copter seems to be circling the parking area now. I guess it's looking for a place to land. No! Something just came out of the back of the helicopter. It's, uh, a dark object. Perhaps a skydiver plummeting to the earth from only 2000 feet into the air. And there's a third. There's no parachutes yet. Those can't be skydivers. I can't tell just yet what they are, but... Oh my god, they're turkeys! Johnny, can you get this? Oh, they're crashing to the earth right in front of my eyes! One just went through the windshield of a parked car! This is terrible. They're running around, pushing each other. Oh, my goodness! Oh, the humanity! Oh, people are running about! The turkeys are hitting the ground like sacks of wet cement. I don't know how much longer-- The crowd is running for their lives!
I'll tell you what is untrue. It is untrue that you're working for a benevolent regime. It is untrue that you're an impartial journalist. What's true is that fascists have taken over out planet and you're their Minister of Propaganda. You're a discredit to your profession. You've allowed personal ambition to corrupt your integrity. You no longer have credibility. Good day.