On that harrowing night, on the eve of St. Crispin’s day, I was in a helicopter caught in RPG and AK-47 fire. We crashed, fled the scene, bullets flying and death amongst us. Then I gathered the trusty souls that I had fought so gallantly with, and and turned, crying Havoc! and we proceeded to smite the Dreaded Infidel with our trusty swords, beseeching the name of Our Maker as we spilled their blood, scattering it in a fine atomized dust on the ever-drifting sands of the Land of the Saracen.
So, what do you think, do I have what it takes to be a news anchor?