Are they all here? What? Grant’s at speech therapy? Well, I’m going anyway.

Let’s talk about something important: the annual magazine-sale fundraiser.

I’m here from downtown—from the school board on a mission of mercy. Your name’s Chip? You call yourself a salesman, you son of a bitch? Your school’s going to run out of cash before you start the fifth grade unless you start selling some magazines, starting tonight, Chip.

As you all know, first prize is two minutes in the money machine. Anyone want to see second prize? Second prize is a Koosh Ball. Third prize is you’re fired. What’s that? Sorry, apparently third prize is a big Tootsie Roll.

You got leads, ladies: grandparents, your dad’s co-workers, aunts and uncles in Maryland. You can’t close these leads, you can’t close shit, you are shit—what? She’s right, kids, don’t sell door-to-door to strangers. There’s a lotta sick perverts out there.

What’s my name? You see this watch? That watch cost more than your Xbox. That’s my name! Really? $300? Christ.

You’re nothing. Honor roll? I don’t give a shit. Take care of the class hamster? Fuck you. You wanna go to school here? Get out there and sell some Newsweeks.

I can go out there tonight and get 20 subscriptions to Entertainment Weekly! In two hours! And my aunts and uncles are long dead, you sons of bitches.

A-B-C. A—always, B—be, C—careful. Remember those perverts, kids. Let’s get some sort of buddy system going, huh?

And, um, the class with the most sales gets a pizza party with Shrek.