Listen, this was absolutely great, I really enjoyed talking to you. Absolutely. We’ve got to do it again sometime. Next time at my place, all right? We’ll do some grilling out back. Dogs, burgers, ribs, the whole nine yards. Until then! No, no, listen, the pleasure is all mine.

Hmm? Oh I’m just saying that the pleasure, it’s mine. All mine.

What was that?

Sorry, maybe I’m not making myself clear, but if there is any pleasure whatsoever to be derived from this encounter, it is I and I alone who will be the exclusive beneficiary of that pleasure.

Look, I promise, I’m not trying to make a big deal out of this. You seem like a great guy, and it’s my genuine delight to meet you, but I will reiterate my stance here and remind you that the pleasure of that meeting is all mine.

Split it? You’re suggesting that we split the pleasure?

That’s a good one. I’m laughing. That’s rich. Because as far as the pleasure goes, here’s the split that I’m thinking: me? I get all of it. You? You get none of it. You like that? How’s that strike you?

Listen, don’t even think about trying to take some of the pleasure, because it belongs to me. You got that, big boy?

No, no, honestly, how dare you. I take time out of my busy day to come over and meet you, find myself getting some real and authentic pleasure out of the experience, bonding over our shared backgrounds and mutual love of jazz music, and then fairly and appropriately stake my claim over that pleasure, and now suddenly you’re crying foul?

Wouldn’t that be nice? If that was the way the world worked? If you could just cry “unfair” and suddenly I tender to you half of my own personal pleasure out of the goodness of my heart?

Well listen carefully, pal: the world’s not fair, possession is nine-tenths of the law, and the pleasure? You guessed it. It’s mine.

You must have some real pitbull lawyers to still be gunning for this pleasure—pleasure which, may I remind you, I am the sole and permanent owner of, by virtue of my initial decree.

Yeah? You’re feeling tough? You want to go down that road? You think your guys can go against mine? Let me tell you what’s going to happen: the minute you file that suit, there’ll be a countersuit, we’ll be in and out of mediation, and let’s say by some act of God you manage to win, I will bury you in appeals. Your grandchildren will be dealing with this. It doesn’t stop until I have taken everything from you.

You think I’ll stop at protecting this pleasure alone? From this meeting only? That’s a fairytale. You’re living in Candyland. Because suddenly I'm feeling jealous. I want the principal, plus interest, plus a cut from any pleasure you or your associates have gained from any meeting, professional or private, over the last ten years. You get that, right? You’re finished. Your days in the pleasure-getting business are behind you. The second you feel yourself enjoying the chance meeting of a business acquaintance in a public park, the moment you find yourself pleasantly surprised by the rapport you’re building with a fellow deli patron in line for a sandwich, you will look over your shoulder and see my team, ready to wring the pleasure out of you like a dirty dishrag.

It’s in God’s hands now, my friend. You’ll be hearing from my attorneys.

And listen, really: it was great to meet you. The pleasure was all mine.