There are two kinds of turkey. There’s the kind you stuff down your gullet in a holiday binge while you pretend for a few hours that your uncle doesn’t turn your stomach with each inane word out of his mouth. And then there’s the turkey you make with your own hand–literally. All you need is a pen. Now, the second kind is something normally considered to be the realm of children–an innocent mockery of art, a construction paper monstrosity that stares at you from the refrigerator until holiday fatigue outweighs parental guilt and you tuck it away in some forgotten shoebox… But for us Foxes, that clumsy tracing signifies a different kind of binge entirely, one wrought with politics. Power. Murder. And puppydog servants oblivious to Kevin Spacey’s utter disregard for the Fourth Wall.