Rupert Murdoch came outside his NYC apartment building, looked up, saw a peacock, and was like,

"Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately peacock of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my luxurious Fifth Avenue building's door -
Perched upon a window sill just above my luxurious Fifth Avenue building's door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this colorful bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient peacock wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, 'Rebekah Brooks.'"

Shit was crazy.

[Photos by Landon Nordeman via The New Yorker and]