Pardon Me?

"Hey, George?"
"Is this turkey talkin' to me?"
"Yes, I am, George. And I hope you don't mind me being so very informal, but given the circumstances..."
"No sir. You go right on ahead."
"Well, I just thought that, since you did me this favor - saving my life and all - that I should find some way to repay you."
"Well Pumpkin, don't you worry about it. It's all part of the job."
"Really? You mean I'm not special?"
"Of course you're special. I only pardon one turkey each year. Well, two really, and you and your pal are the last ones I'm ever gonna do."
"Well then. I guess that makes this piece of advice all the more significant, doesn't it?"
"You sure got a good vocabulary for a turkey."
"And you've got a good vocabulary for a leader of the free world. Now back to that advice."
"Yeah?"
"I'm here to tell you that bad genetics cannot be overcome. You are what you are based on the twists and turns of the DNA strand, but you can compensate through strength of character."
"So - I didn't have to be a narrow-minded twit for all these years?"
"No. Even though sometimes you felt it was your destiny, just like a forty-pound turkey seems destined for a roasting pan. You can rise above it and be the person that you imagine yourself to be."
"You're a pretty smart bird."
"And that's a very nice tie you've got there."

"Pumpkin will be the honorary grand marshal of Disneyland's Thanksgiving Day Parade," President Pinhead declared. "Together, these birds will gobble the rest of their days in the happiest place on Earth. I just hope they stay humble there." With these words, yet another of the final, desperate acts of the most incompetent administration in U.S. history continued to grind to a halt. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the door is closing on the last eight years.