I... look, I don't want the spotlight on me, OK? No? Fine. OK, first of all it's not "Teddy," it's just Ted. Teddy is a name for a child. Second, my last name is not "Banjo" for God's sake, it's Miller. Ted Miller. Teddy Banjo? Jesus.

Look, it started years ago - maybe five years ago which might not seem like a long time to you, but the difference between a 12 year old and a 17 year old is a long 5 years. So anyway, I was at Boy Scout camp for a couple weeks that summer and my cabin's counselor played the banjo. He just seemed like such a swell guy and everybody liked him and liked to hear him play the banjo that when I got home I told my folks I wanted to learn to play the banjo.

So anyway, next thing I know I've got my banjo and I'm in this class with a bunch of the sorriest losers and milksops I've ever had the displeasure of associating with. Sure, some of them are pretty good at the banjo, but I soon found out that I didn't care anymore! I mean, the banjo is nice once in a while, but some of these jerks are just "banjo banjo banjo" all the livelong day.

And if that were the worst of it, I could live with it. I mean, I'd hate it, but I could live with it. I mean, I was 12 years old when this started, what did I know? I mean, I'd like to tell you. I really would, but I'm scared. I'm so goddamn weak.

I wish I could just quit this club and never see a banjo again. That's what I wish. But once you join Team USA Banjo, you don't just quit. It's not that simple.

Nothing's ever that simple.