Mr. Roosevelt, thank you for making time during your class to speak with me. Yes, I apologize that we had to cancel your alligator wrestling lecture. I don't know what you're going to do now with 50 pounds of chicken. No, I don't want to see you eat 50 pounds of chicken. Anyway, I do appreciate you making the time. This isn't easy for me to say because but we're going to have to cancel your gym class here at Kushion Elementary.

You're a badass, Teddy—can I call you Teddy? That's such a rugged name—and we love that about you. No, the Spanish teacher didn't say that, I'm saying it. I mean, look at that mustache—that's a handsome mustache. It's just that you've brought too much of that raw, “I survived a war where they still used horses” spirit to your position here. Like that time you made our second graders camp in a swamp to see who could contract and beat Yellow Fever the best. Yes, I know you “won,” very impressive. And just the other day you lit the climbing rope on fire while a student was climbing it. Yes, I did hear that he set a personal record but that puts me in a real tough spot with parents. I got enough blowback when I okayed your lecture on how to deliver a speech with a bullet in your chest. I still can't believe how much blood you lost. What do you mean it's still in your chest? That can't be good—but I mean does it get more badass than that?

Now I understand how upset you must feel about this news but we had a safety issue on our hands. No, nobody ate your exotic meat sandwich from the teacher's lounge. I'm talking about how you made those students who are allergic to peanuts cultivate an entire peanut crop. Yes, I get that legume crops are a staple of our region, and I'm aware that was part of your moxie-based curriculum but the PTA really has me by the balls on this one. They're still furious that you were the only teacher who didn't give out awards for the effort they perceived their children gave in your class.

Look, you're not exactly like the other teachers here anyway—just look at your hands, they're like the ones they use in tough-guy hand lotion commercials. But also you've missed every single staff meeting this year. Yes, I know you were busy organizing that big-game hunting demonstration for the students. I'm still impressed by how quickly you killed all of those animals. Pure badass. Like, leather-jacket-level stuff, Teddy. But then there was the lunch monitor situation. Most of our teachers just watch the students. You taught them how to will their way to political victory and I've been fighting eight-year-olds to keep my job ever since. Yes, you mentioned that I should sharpen my jawline—Grace in Ms. White's class did too.

It's the little things too. When you filled in for the band director and were supposed to teach the students how to march, you trained them instead in guerrilla warfare tactics. I've seen them do some grizzly shit, Teddy. Like Rambo-type stuff. It's actually super impressive but we've lost four instructors since then, Teddy—- Oh, excuse me, I have to take this call… We've lost five instructors, Teddy.

And remember that 45-minute address you gave during morning announcements—the one where you told students to speak softly and carry a big stick? Our teachers can't hear any of the students anymore, especially over the noise they're making with the enormous tree branches they've started dragging around. We've had to hire 10 more custodians just to handle all of the leaves.

I'll cut to the chase, Teddy. I can't completely fire you—your shoulders are too broad and your eyes are literally cutting through me right now. I'm in legitimate physical pain from your gaze. But I am going to have to transfer you to the art department. Yes, you'll have to move your big game trophies and collection of rusty items you've removed from your body. But hey, the art room is in the same hallway as the Spanish teacher so there's that. And the students' art has been getting a little too modern for my taste so I'm looking forward to seeing a little more moxie in their watercolors.

**ENROLLMENT EXTENDED THRU JAN 23** Interested in making comedy your career? Scott Dikkers, founding editor of The Onion and #1 NYT bestselling author, created Comedy Business School to teach you exactly how to do it through 5 learning modules.