We were watching the midnight show at a speakeasy. The proprietors had a moral objection to the policy of liquor licenses, so they went underground.
I turned back to my companion, "So, what does all of this have to do with Methuselah Mouse again?"
"Well," he replied cagily, "It's pretty straightforward. I'm going to start a business doing television pickup and disposal. People will pay thirty bucks to get a TV picked up, since most garbage companies won't take it. Then, I'll ship all those TVs to an outdoor gun range, and people can kill their television. When I make $25000, I'll donate it to the Methuselah prize...."
I nodded dully, as the singer called out in a sultry low whiskey-and-cigarettes voice, "Fish are jumpin', and take to the sky...."
"But here's the thing," he said, "I'm also going to have a private driving area out there, and I'll set it up like a city street, with street signs, traffic lights, and so forth. And I'll have races, but with a special rule: everyone needs to do the opposite of what the street signs say, or they're disqualified."
"And then you'll send them home, with their motor memory jangled by your deliberate manipulation?" I asked.
And the singer sang in a smoky whisper, "Until that mornin', your momma's good lookin'..."
I snorted derisively. "Who are you, anyway?"
"You must remember me," he said, "I'm the one who taught you to forget how to swim."
"So hush now," she sang out, as the crowd called out in applause,"little darlin' by your side."