So.

In an unrelated universe, there was a turkey farmer, who had recently taken over the running of the turkey farm. Being a reasonable kind of chap, he worried about the turkeys' wellbeing, and wanted them to like him. So he made a lot of encouraging noises and assured them it would all be OK.

Unfortunately, when Christmas came the vast majority of the turkeys refused to vote for it. As a result, they were seen as apathetic - surely, if they cared as much about being turkeys as the turkey farmer did, they'd want to show their involvement in the process of turkey farming, from the point of hatching right up to the inevitable hatchet?

The turkeys were supposed to elect  the best turkeys amongst them to serve on the farmer's committee. Unfortunately, when the turkeys stopped doing whatever it is that turkeys do all day - and quite a lot of nights, weekends and little turkeys' birthdays - they realised that this committee was entirely devoted to protecting the interests of the turkey-consuming public (and the committee turkeys themselves, as the hatchet never seemed to fall on them, no matter how naughty a turkey they became), rather than the interests of the 'ordinary' turkeys themselves. And, as they were obligated to be turkeys, and to live under the conditions that the turkey farmer dictated, then surely it would be madness to vote for Christmas. It didn't matter who was organising the Christmas party - it inevitably went the same way for the turkeys - so why not just wish that they'd become ducks or geese instead, go back to turkeying and wait for the blade to fall when least expected?

But when the Inspector of Turkeys And Other Professional Headless Fowl came round to make sure that the turkey farmer and his committee of docile turkeys were treating the rest of the turkeys fairly and consistently, the turkey farmer was at least able to claim that the turkeys must be happy, because about one in six, bizarrely, kept putting their faith in Christmas. So that was OK.

So.

In an unrelated universe, there was a turkey farmer, who had recently taken over the running of the turkey farm. Being a reasonable kind of chap, he worried about the turkeys' wellbeing, and wanted them to like him. So he made a lot of encouraging noises and assured them it would all be OK.

Unfortunately, when Christmas came the vast majority of the turkeys refused to vote for it. As a result, they were seen as apathetic - surely, if they cared as much about being turkeys as the turkey farmer did, they'd want to show their involvement in the process of turkey farming, from the point of hatching right up to the inevitable hatchet?

The turkeys were supposed to elect  the best turkeys amongst them to serve on the farmer's committee. Unfortunately, when the turkeys stopped doing whatever it is that turkeys do all day - and quite a lot of nights, weekends and little turkeys' birthdays - they realised that this committee was entirely devoted to protecting the interests of the turkey-consuming public (and the committee turkeys themselves, as the hatchet never seemed to fall on them, no matter how naughty a turkey they became), rather than the interests of the 'ordinary' turkeys themselves. And, as they were obligated to be turkeys, and to live under the conditions that the turkey farmer dictated, then surely it would be madness to vote for Christmas. It didn't matter who was organising the Christmas party - it inevitably went the same way for the turkeys - so why not just wish that they'd become ducks or geese instead, go back to turkeying and wait for the blade to fall when least expected?

But when the Inspector of Turkeys And Other Professional Headless Fowl came round to make sure that the turkey farmer and his committee of docile turkeys were treating the rest of the turkeys fairly and consistently, the turkey farmer was at least able to claim that the turkeys must be happy, because about one in six, bizarrely, kept putting their faith in Christmas. So that was OK.