"I'm sorry... I mean, we're already on tour. We have gigs booked all over the country already. The world, really."

The man in the dark suit with the shaved head continued to smile, and said, "We're aware of that, and I'm sure you feel that you've made it already. This probably feels like success to you. You probably feel like this is how it's supposed to work. We know that your record sales have been down in recent years, and a lot of the places you're playing on this tour are, well, they're not large venues. Some are dives. If you're okay with smaller, more intimate venues, perhaps you should consider an alternative."

Bart looked up at the strange guy in the suit. The sweat was still running down his back under his retro-eighties style shirt. He rubbed his stubble and his light eyes still betrayed his ignorance. What was this guy offering?

"We have recently made a large investment in the construction of small, but very high caliber venues all over the country, primarily focusing on college towns and other areas representing youth culture markets. Each of these spaces has excellent lighting, decor, acoustics, and top of the line equipment, and top notch staff. We've done for rock and roll what Starbucks has done for coffee, what Wal-mart has done for low priced crap for the masses. The only thing missing is the music artists. We need as many as we can get. We want to take over. We have the money behind this to make it work. We have the radio stations playing the music we want. We have the television stations playing commercials to promote our shows. If you sign on for an exclusive tour with us, you'll be heard and seen. That's what it's all about, right?"

Bart chuckled and said, "Naw, man, it's about t-shirt sales. We're all about the merch booth, selling CDs and posters and shit."

Continuing to smile confidently, the man in the suit said, "And we've got you covered. Every location has a high quality merchandise booth, and we're connected with all the necessary manufacturing to supply all you need. You'll be offered a complete kit, more merchandise than you could possibly throw together on your own, or with the limited support of your record label."

Bart rubbed his mouth again. "Huh."

"We also offer a play to stay for all our performers. Rather than settle for a hotel stay that comes out of the money you borrow from your record label, we have deluxe housing in each city that is specifically designed to be luxury accommodations for our performers. Why settle for an expensive mini-bar and a crappy cathode ray tube with limited entertainment when you could be in one of our boarding houses watching a massive flatscreen LCD and playing XBOX 360 or watching high definition movies and television and eating your choice of delivery cuisine?"

"Oh, yeah?" Bart looked skeptical. "What about beer? We like beer."

"Our venues have a myriad of excellent choices on tap, including local breweries. You won't have to settle for Budweiser."

"I like Budweiser."

"Well, then we have that, too."

"But why would you want to book a band like the Downtown Psychos in your fancy new clubs? We only had two hit songs, and that was ten years ago. Our last album fizzled out pretty fast and ended our contract with the label."

"We're not interested in your current commercial success or failure so much as what we see as your potential future earnings. We specifically target artists who may have fallen from favor with labels or core audiences, but that still have the potential to bounce back."

"Hmm..." Bart looked into space and thought about the offer. It sounded too good to be true. Then he said, "I want to see one of these new venues of yours before I decide. I'll talk to the guys about it, though."

The man in the suit leaned in said, "Here's my card. I believe you're playing in a shit hole called The Wack Shack tomorrow night. While you're there, give it some thought, then give me a call."

Bart looked at the card. He felt like he was being offered a deal with the devil out of some cartoon.