Social Contractors

The moon looks mean and the crew ain't stayin'
There's gonna be some blood
Is what they're all sayin'
--Jay Ferguson

The door bell rings. You open the door to find a group of burly individuals, all carrying pistols in holsters and badges of some sort on their belts. The man closest to the door, who appears to be the leader, unsnaps his holster and brushes past you, entering your house. The others follow.

The group heads to the living room where all except the leader sit down and make themselves comfortable. With hands clasped behind his back, the leader slowly paces the the room, pausing occasionally to observe ornamental touches such as the family pictures on the fireplace mantel and the crown molding that edges the ceiling.

Finally he turns to you and says, "Nice place. Looks like you've been productive. As such, we're going to have to take 30% of your paycheck. Not just this week, but in all future weeks. If you produce more income, then we'll take an even greater percentage.

"If you refuse to pay, then we'll shake you down for what you owe us--plus a penalty. If we can't recover the difference, then we'll lock you in a room until you learn your lesson.

"But guess what? This is a great deal for you, because we're letting you keep the rest of your paycheck. Plus, if you don't like this arrangement, then you're free to leave anytime. You'll just have to leave your home, pursuits and other interests behind, and we'll take your remaining property as an exit fee."

The leader nods to the others, turns, and heads to the front door. The others get up and follow.

"Best part," the leader shouts over his shoulder while exiting premises, "is that there's nothing to sign. We already have your name down on the Social Contract."