You can read the official document here, but The Sun News Network mole has slipped me a copy of Ezra's first draft. As you can see, it's been changed quite a bit:
As you all must know, I'm pretty much fucked right now. I've lost one defamation case, the Warman thing is still coming down the pipe, and there's even some Muslim kid who may be into my pockets to the tune of six figures. Worst of all, dad's threatening to pull my allowance and, unfortunately, free speech don't feed the bulldog. Or pay the lawyer's bill.
So here I am. Watch me grovel. Because I need this job. Really...need...this...job. Its a 24 hour bus ride back to Lethbridge, and dad's basement gets pretty cold in Winter. Beside's, what's back there for me? One way streets; shitty coffee from Tim's. Yokels in flannel talking hockey and "How about dat snow, eh?" Fuck that bullshit. I shill for the oil patch. There's no fucking way I intend to hang out in it.
And what would I do with myself anyway? Start-up another magazine, start Muslim bashing, publish those damn cartoons yet again? Its old man, its old. I gotta stop living in 2008. I need a new schtick.
And anyway, it used to be when you bad-mouthed Allah all that happened was some nerd from the human rights commission sent you a letter. Now everything's a 319 offence. 319 this; 319 that. Some big copper shows up at your door waving a copy of the criminal code. Jail cells are cold, man. People puke in them. You can get scabies. Not that I've seen the inside of one, yet, but I'm starting to dream about them, and if this mea culpa doesn't fly I may wind up living in one, married to the convict with the most cigarettes.
How did this all happen, anyway? You're riding high! Dozens of people are watching your show every night! And then WHAMMO!!! You say the wrong thing and the police are at your door and the CRTC wants to confiscate your pay-check. Its like ole Tom getting greased by those Indians. Now I'm getting Flanaganed by another bunch of damn swarthies. Maybe these people are smarter than I thought.
So, Roma, I am really, really, really fucking sorry. Really. I'm not shitting you because my lawyer advised me. See this picture? That's my kid. They'll be needing braces pretty soon. Set me free, Roma! Huh? How about it?