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Sweet children, I have grave news.

Some day, each and every one of you are going to die.

But maybe, just maybe, you’ll also live forever.

Mr. Teddy, that doesn’t make sense.

It makes all the sense in the world, sweet children. Please understand, dying is one of those sad things that all Arcadians must do. It’s like doing your chores. It’s like breathing. You don’t have a choice.

It’s what we do while we’re alive that differentiates us from others. And on that account, we always have a choice.

Because what makes each of us special, truly special and immortal, is how we are remembered.



The only candy on the market with Teddy O’Toole’s epitaph printed on it!  Wrapped in gold, and on sale now!

But Mr. Teddy, you aren’t dead!

No, not yet children.

But the legend of Teddy O’Toole is like a cemetery.

The whole thing’s set in stone.

You see sweet children, it is no small thing to plan a life where you’ll die a legend.

It can stretch you as far and as thin as my brand new Epitaffy stretches.

All at once, I’ve had to be a creator, a hustler, and a guide.

It isn’t enough to create a tool for my own benefit, or the benefit of kissing the butt of Zeus and the Pantheon, for which I’ve had no notion. I’ve had no intentions of creating something strictly for my own gain.

I’ve created for the gain of the entire world.

And what I’ve created? Through hitting the pavement, through hard work and long hours and non-stop selling, I’ve hustled my creations until I cornered every market I entered. And the markets I entered weren’t illegal, like so many hustlers, who selfishly only chase credits.

The markets I chose to enter were legitimate, because I promised myself that my legend would be larger than my bank account.

And when you have a vision for your legacy? You have to guide that vision. You have to protect it through levels and levels of danger to its end.

Because if you aren’t guiding your own legend? You guiding someone else’s. And after that?

You’re about as useful as a bullet to the head.

Candy is my passion, sweet children.

Because of this, my sugary treats are my legacy.

And in a world where it seems like everyone is a walking epitaph for someone else’s greatness?

I have created, hustled, and guided my own greatness, which only ascends to further and further heights.

For whether I’m dead or alive, sweet children, my legend will be greater than that of the mere creator, the mere hustler, or the mere guide. For I have been all three. And when the day comes that I am finally reduced to ashes? My epitaph will be wrapped in gold, just like my Epitaffy. And just like my Epitaffy, it will read:

Here lies Teddy O’Toole

Who can be a creator, a hustler, a guide?

A champion and a legend, dead or alive?

The Candy Man Can.


Teddy O'Toole