Sister Deborah: Welcome to Sister Deborah's Radio Room, live from Tunnel #8. I'm Sister Deborah.
Gristle: Hi Deborah!
Sister Deborah: We'll be reading the winners from our weekly poetry contest.
Gristle: Followed by Gristle and Weed's Comedy Hour!
Weed: This program brought to you by General Coal.
Gristle: General Coal: Wishing you all a warm Christmas.
Weed: For crying out loud, it's not even (beep), sorry sorry, I mean it's not even the last day of October.
Sister Deborah: Tonight's winner is Mister Jack K---- Esquire.
Gristle: Mister K!
Weed: Mister Kay-hay-hay.
Gristle: Is it just me or does the man look more and more like something out of Sharper Image every time he comes home?
Weed: Hi Jack! Patch in if you're listening, how's the bacon in Washington?
Gristle: Has to be good, pigs never starve themselves.
Sister Deborah: He seems to be returning to his post-Romantic style.
Gristle: Were you around for the Monday war sonnet? Powerful stuff.
Weed: Yeah yeah I know the kind of poetry you like, is this the one where the guy gets burned to death?
Gristle: It's a classic!
Weed: Let me guess, it doesn't rhyme either.
Gristle: Nor does it have Paint By Numbers you peasant.
Sister Deborah: If you're just now joining us, Radio Room is brought to you by General Coal.
Gristle: General Coal: From our family to yours this Christmas season.
Weed: It's not even (beep)!
Sister Deborah: Watch it.
Gristle: It's on the list.
Weed: It's a stupid list.
Gristle: Mister Weed---
Weed: Call me Dub.
Weed: Short for W.
Gristle: Mister W, may I make an observation?
Weed: It's a free country.
Gristle: You don't strike me as much of a reader.
Weed: That's not true. I get eight magazine quarterlies. My house is full of cookbooks. I'm just not an academic.
Gristle: Academics aren't necessarily readers. More like data-miners.
Sister Deborah: Have you tried reading before bed? General Coal has an excellent Night Owl subscription plan.
Weed: What, are you on the GC payroll?
Sister Deborah: You like having the lights on?
Weed: You like reading poetry about getting burned to death?
Gristle: Oswald's women threw me in a fire once.
Sister Deborah: You wouldn't last three days off the power grid.
Weed: Neither would you, what, you gonna chop wood like the pioneers? We had another eight inches of snow yesterday.
Gristle: It's amazing how much pain you can feel without losing consciousness.
Sister Deborah: Just read the poem.
Weed: I dunno, is it a Christmas poem?
Sister Deborah: Careful. They're listening.
Weed: Hey Jack, what are YOU gonna dress up as for (beep)?
Male Announcer: And now please stand, if you are able, for our national anthem.