Opus:
As your records will show, Father Christmas, I am a bird. Specifically, a penguin. An embarrassing accident at birth, for which I do not blame my mother. I prefer to blame Congress.

Truffles:
You would not see ME trying to fly.

Opus:
I hope not. You're a pig.

Truffles:
Rhinocerous.

Opus:
Pig.

Truffles:
Rhinocerous.

Opus:
Pig. P-O-R-K. You know, the other white meat?

George the Kiwi:
ALBATROSS. Just be glad your wife didn't leave you for an albatross.

Ronald-Anne:
Good, George, confront your feelings.

George the Kiwi:
My puny kiwi wings weren't big enough for Delores. Oh no, oh no... she had to have AN ALBATROSS. With great big huge LONG WINGS. He was on hormones. You heard me, read my beak: HORMONES.

Opus:
Uh, maybe we shouldn't confront those particular feelings.

Opus:
Wait outside, Bill, and try not to give anybody rabies.

Opus:
Excuse me, but I simply must fly.

Santa:
I see no penguins here whose wings merely sputter. Tonight it was courage that flew yours beyond others. Time to fly, son.

Duck #1:
Hey look, I'm a bird. I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth.

Duck #2:
Honey, I'll be taking lunch on the moon today.

Duck #3:
What's the red thing on the neck? Turbo prop? So where's the exhaust? Don't answer that.

Duck #1:
Note the mighty wings. I suspect they sputter more than flutter. (They all laugh)

Opus:
They're obviously jealous of my nose. Anybody would be.

Opus:
We're going down because penguins can't fly.

Opus:
I'll be flying on Christmas Morning... I'll be flying on Christmas Day.

The Chicken:
Pull up. Pull UP. Don't suck a duck into your turbines.

George the Kiwi:
AN ALBATROSS. Suck up AN ALBATROSS. Yeah.

Cockroach:
Excuse me, is this cockroach cross-dressers in crisis?

Truffles:
Did you know that you've got a large rutabaga on your nose?

Opus:
That IS my nose!

Opus:
Aerotooter, aerotooter... aerotooter?