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Ok, listen up!
I hate to break this to ya' chump, but ya' gotta' quit with this •ten•teddy garbage. I talked it over with my new buddy here, Ken Bruseth (now •thats• a man's name) and he thought I should shoot you off an email telling you how I feel. Here's the deal, dude. This putting the number ten in my moniker makes me feel like a sissy. I ain't no Bo Derek! I'm a teddyman, not a teddygirl. Dang, you don't know what yer doin ta me feller. All my teddy buds are crackin' on me all the time - "Hey tenteddy, are you really a 10?" Ha, ha! Out go the lights! I'm tired of whooping my teddy friends' butts over this silly ass name you hung on me. My paws are all bruised and sore from thumpin' noggins, and if you ever bothered to pay attention to me (sniff), you'd see that I don't look that happy. Guess why: it's that stinkin' name!!!! So here's the deal. From now on I want to be known as "•EX•Teddy". Ya got that? Yeah, I can hear it now: EXTeddy, the teddy formerly known as tenteddy. You havta admit, it's got a ring to it, doncha think so? Makes me sound tough. I •am• a rough n' tuff, good old, ted-dude-boy (as in "good old boy" - Get with it! Wake up!). Ya hear what I'm sayin'? Besides that, if the EX thing was good enough for my brother, Malcolm, it's good enough for me. So layoff of me and get this name thing right. And don't try handing me any of that "a rose would smell the same …" bull either. It's the name that smells! So pal, SHAPE UP!!!!! Don't make me hurt you. Take it easy greazzy.
Later Gator…
EXTeddy
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