It’s Friday night. You are DJ Musik, the best beats man in all of Europe. You heard the people of Las Vegas yearned for you, so you have taken a limo here from Prague. You pull up to Club Jenga, the city’s hottest dance bunker, where you will jam loud until the sun comes up. So, DJ Musik, are you ready to party?

DJ Musik, are you ready to dance?

Then it’s time to give the people what they want.

The doors swing open and your kingdom screams in ecstasy. You pump your fist and the lights flash. You purse your lips and the women move.

Every man around you becomes a boy. Every woman around you becomes a mature woman. You must have this club. You must own this club. To whom will this club soon belong?

“Hello, DJ Musik,” a soft, sexy lady voice whispers in your ear. “Tonight has been only bad without you. Would you like to buy me a drink?”

“You will buy the beautiful club lady a drink.”

“Hah, DJ Musik, I kid,” she says. “I would never accept your fruity cocktail. My name is Leysa, and I am the hottest DJ in Las Vegas. I heard you think you are hot, hot stuff and want to own Club Jenga?”

“Allow me to insult you, DJ Musik: You are not,” she says. “I have out-tuned hundreds of music men, and each one now lives inside this sweat cave as one of my dancing waiter boys. You will make a fine bar monkey, DJ Musik. So I ask: How down are you?”

“Hello, I am former DJ and current club slave DJ Krisp, and it is my job to mask alcohols with sweet fluids,” says the tuxedo man. “How can I hype you tonight?”

Well, well, well, DJ Musik, you think you are a master of sound? Because DJ Leysa thinks you are the ultimate scum. First things first: If you want to own Club Jenga, you need to get the people hyped and freaky. So, how will you inspire your dancing masses?

“Hello, my name is DJ Musik,” you say as your crowd looks on.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’d planned to speak to you tonight to report on the state of the Union, but the events of earlier today have led me to change those plans.”

“Today is a day for mourning and remembering. Nancy and I are pained to the core by the tragedy of the shuttle Challenger. We know we share this pain with all of the people of our country. This is truly a national loss.”

“Nineteen years ago, almost to the day, we lost three astronauts in a terrible accident on the ground. But we’ve never lost an astronaut in flight; we’ve never had a tragedy like this.”

“And perhaps we’ve forgotten the courage it took for the crew of the shuttle; but they, the Challenger Seven, were aware of the dangers, but overcame them and did their jobs brilliantly. We mourn seven heroes: Michael Smith, Dick Scobee, Judith Resnik, Ronald McNair, Ellison Onizuka, Gregory Jarvis, and Christa McAuliffe. We mourn their loss as a nation together.

“For the families of the seven, we cannot bear, as you do, the full impact of this tragedy. But we feel the loss, and we’re thinking about you so very much. Your loved ones were daring and brave, and they had that special grace, that special spirit that says, ‘Give me a challenge and I’ll meet it with joy.’ They had a hunger to explore the universe and discover its truths. They wished to serve, and they did. They served all of us.”

“All right, DJ Musik, so the crowd is hyped and having heart attacks,” says Leysa, the Ibiza woman. “But does that mean you are Club Jenga’s new monster? Please. For that, you’ll have to defeat me in a tunes battle.”

“We’ve grown used to wonders in this century. It’s hard to dazzle us. But for 25 years, the United States space program has been doing just that. We’ve grown used to the idea of space, and perhaps we forget that we’ve only just begun. We’re still pioneers. They, the members of the Challenger crew, were pioneers.

“And I want to say something to the schoolchildren of America who were watching the live coverage of the shuttle’s takeoff. I know it is hard to understand, but sometimes painful things like this happen. It’s all part of the process of exploration and discovery. It’s all part of taking a chance and expanding man’s horizons. The future doesn’t belong to the fainthearted; it belongs to the brave. The Challenger crew was pulling us into the future, and we’ll continue to follow them.

“I’ve always had great faith in and respect for our space program. And what happened today does nothing to diminish it. We don’t hide our space program. We don’t keep secrets and cover things up. We do it all up front and in public. That’s the way freedom is, and we wouldn’t change it for a minute.

“We’ll continue our quest in space. There will be more shuttle flights and more shuttle crews and, yes, more volunteers, more civilians, more teachers in space. Nothing ends here; our hopes and our journeys continue.

“I want to add that I wish I could talk to every man and woman who works for NASA, or who worked on this mission, and tell them: ‘Your dedication and professionalism have moved and impressed us for decades. And we know of your anguish. We share it.’

“There’s a coincidence today. On this day, 390 years ago, the great explorer Sir Francis Drake died aboard ship off the coast of Panama. In his lifetime the great frontiers were the oceans, and a historian later said, ‘He lived by the sea, died on it, and was buried in it.’ Well, today, we can say of the Challenger crew: Their dedication was, like Drake’s, complete.

“The crew of the Space Shuttle Challenger honored us by the manner in which they lived their lives. We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them, this morning, as they prepared for their journey and waved goodbye and ‘slipped the surly bonds of earth’ to ‘touch the face of God.’”

“Thank you.”

“Hello, DJ Musik. I am Jalees,” says the beautiful crop-top lady near the stage. “Tomorrow is my wedding, and tonight is the night I’m required to go insane with lust for other men.”

“No, unfortunately, it’s very hard for me to be hyped right now. My fiancé, Dámen, and I really rushed into this stage of our relationship, and every time I try to envision the next 60 years with him I get so scared.”

No woman has ever been in a state other than ecstasy around you. You are DJ Musik. How will you hype her?

“Oh, DJ Musik, aren’t you sweet? But I am descending deeper into depression,” she says. “Some things simply cannot be fixed with a loud thump or a whirring noise.”

“Jalees, my darling, DJ Musik was once in love,” you say, dropping the beat. “DJ Musik fell deeply in love with a beautiful woman who I met online, and who was old, because I am European. She taught me everything I know today.”

“But then, after being so in love, she left me for an older man, then a younger man, then a man exactly my age,” you say, dimming the lights. “I was—”

“Heartbroken,” they shout.

“For a brief moment, I—”

“Contemplated suicide,” they scream.

“Now, my choices were my own, but ultimately, you are going to be the one who lives with your decision,” you scream into the microphone. “You know what you need to do, Jalees.”

“Well, DJ Musik, you managed to make the crowd yelp, but also you said that thing about online dating and it was weird,” says Leysa. “If you want to own this club, you’re going to have to play better tunes than me, and also meet women the old-fashioned way.”

“I am DJ Musik, the beats man of this club...”

“Who is ready for some loud, loud noise?”

“Not me,” shouts a man in the crowd. “I hate music. Music gives me headaches.”

“Headaches are the worst feeling a man can have, and you give me that pain constantly,” he shouts, inflating a beach ball and spiking it at you. “That makes you a bad DJ.”

No one talks to DJ Musik like that. Which of these headache lovers will DJ Musik use to shut down the club idiot?

“I understand this feeling more than you know,” you say, handing him your finest cocktail creation, the Cranberry Musik. “When I was your age, I hated headaches more than anyone.”

“I am dancing right now because I’m so happy to have a headache, not because the beat is good,” shouts the beautiful blonde into the dumb man’s ear. “And I will personally throw anyone who hates headaches into a lake.”

“I drove three days straight from my home in small-town Maine to get this headache, and no one will get in the way of that,” says the lovely man into your microphone. “I hope it lasts forever.”

“I may be in the minority here, but I think I love the man who hates headaches,” yells the breathtaking brunette, raising her hands. “Headaches are my favorite feeling in the world, but I think our love can overcome this.”

The club idiot crosses his arms and puts on a pair of headphones, but has DJ Musik destroyed him enough? Will DJ Musik summon another follower and shut it down?

“I think so, too.”

“Before DJ Musik was DJ Musik, he was Dr. Peter DJ M.D., Prague’s chief of medicine and the city’s foremost headache expert,” you say. “I devoted my life to finding a cure for headaches, but unfortunately, each new treatment I invented came up short.”

“I even tried to make people stop hearing noise, but I couldn’t figure out how,” you confess, cranking up the mic. “The thing is, we may never cure headaches...”

“But we can all work together to make great noise.”

“Wow, DJ Musik, you gave that beats man the biggest headache of all,” says Leysa, pushing through the group. “But if you want to own this club, you’ll have to defeat me in a tune battle.”

“Your story has touched me deeply, DJ Musik,” says Leysa, grabbing your hand. “But I hope you know that hundreds of my dancing club monkeys used to be doctors too. If you want to be the tunes master of this club, you’ll have to defeat me in a music-off.”

So, DJ Musik, it’s you and Leysa now, beat master against beat master, popping eardrums at the soundboard. Who will pop more eardrums?

Who will return to Prague a king of men?

And who will own this club?

The club referee steps up to the stage, ready to judge your future. “DJ Law is my king; DJ Law is my father,” says the striped woman, taking her oath.

You throw on your Prague Mix, the sweaty six-hour track that makes the earth thump and once threw every Eastern European mother and daughter into a hot, hot frenzy. How will you play?

Will you download all music?

You spot a beautiful club lady across the room, looking beautiful. What is DJ Musik’s big move?

“What?” she says into your perfectly tuned ear.

“WHAT?” she screams, again and again.

“DJ Musik, I don’t remember,” she yells to the beat. “I have been dancing atop the glowing floor for over 72 hours straight and my visually pleasing legs cannot take it much longer. The tones are too attractive to stop.”

“Hello, I am former DJ and current club slave DJ Krisp, and it is my job to mask alcohols with sweet fluids,” says the tuxedo man. “How can I hype you tonight?”

“So sorry, DJ Musik, but if I danced with you, I wouldn’t be dancing fully to these top house jams,” she yells over the beats. “I do love you, but also I love tunes. What is a girl to do?”

“DJ Musik, under international DJ law you are technically not allowed to pay for this, so this glass is on me,” he says. “Please, sit, and allow me to introduce you to the many former DJs who are trapped within these walls.”

“Hello, DJ Musik,” the large muscle man says. “Before this, I was South Africa’s most prominent bodybuilding DJ. I could lift more DJs than any other DJ.”

“Nice to meet you, DJ Musik,” says the old wrench man. “I am every DJ’s grandfather. I have been trapped here for over 600,000 full-length albums.”

“Gone are the days when I could wear my bikini and spin discs in the most expensive dark rooms of Ibiza,” says the beer waitress. “I swear to you, DJ Musik, one day I will wear that bikini again.”

“Run away.”

“Run far away.”

“Have this beer.”

“American copyright law is the most sacred part of the musical code,” says Leysa. “Jam with honesty, DJ Musik.”

“Break the law! Break the law!” the people shout.

Well, DJ Musik, after 60 nights in jail, you are faced with your toughest crowd yet. They hate hype. They do not get low. And they are all old, but not in a sexy European way. How will you delight them?

“DJ Musik, I took an oath not to fall in love with you,” says the beautiful dancer.

“I know who you are,” says the wild court dancer. “You’re the guy who illegally downloaded over 300,000 hours of music for fun and pleasure.”

“DJ Musik, U.S. judicial policy specifically prohibits you from mentioning the Challenger explosion in a court of law.”

“Don’t listen to him,” shouts Leysa from the witness stand. “He danced all night at my club like a club idiot.”

“Bailiff,” the judge says, calling up the court’s bouncer. “I will not stand for this or any form of shade in my courtroom, do you understand?”

“Ladies, I’m a man DJ, and I know what you like,” you yell as Leysa looks on skeptically. “Shout if you love all things lady!”

“You’re a lady, you’re a lady, and you’re a lady” you yell, pointing at members of the billowing crowd. “Ladies are great!”

“Oof, all these lady tunes are starting to smell,” Leysa shouts, cutting off your song. “Time to fill this room with some fine, fine dude sounds.”

“Maybe you want to play dude songs so badly because you haven’t accepted your own femininity?” the crowd yells in unison.

“Stop,” shouts the referee, blowing her whistle. “Suddenly, all that reading I did at Vassar just clicked.”

“Ever since I was a young girl, I’ve been trying to reconcile my mother’s femininity with the modern expectations of a woman, and now, after listening to these songs, I understand.”

“DJ Musik, your opponent is dealing with the complex issue of simultaneously embracing and suppressing her sexuality in the male-dominated field of DJing,” she says. “How do you proceed?”

“Stop,” shouts Leysa, blasting her dude tunes. “Ever since my mother dropped me off at this DJ warehouse when I was born, I’ve had problems with self-acceptance.”

“Every DJ I’ve ever seen has been tan, male, and muscular, and probably Eastern European,” Leysa yells into the mic. “You try becoming a woman DJ without having any bikini-clad role models to look up to.”

“We totally get you; realizing your true self can be hard,” they yell.

“DJ Leysa, you’re a DJ,” you say, spinning those discs and cutting off her song. “You’re not just a woman, you’re not just a woman DJ, and you’re not a male or male DJ either, to clarify. I hope you know how special you are.”

“I know, DJ Musik, you’re right,” she yells. “Just play those lady beats and bring me home. This is for every mother and daughter, and women who don’t fall into either category.”

“Who wants to hear the Top 50 songs that the Billboard charts love more than any other songs?” you yell as Leysa looks on skeptically.

“Shout if 50 songs are all you love,” you yell again.

The crowd is hot. They won’t even let Leysa start spinning. Guide them, DJ Musik. You are the only one who can shepherd them to dance ecstasy with these 50 songs.

“Actually, we would like to make a music request,” the crowd yells in unison.

“This breaks no rules. Proceed.”

“So, we’ve been talking it over, and we believe playing a song outside the Top 50 but within the Top 100 could make our combined Club Jenga experience even better,” an audience member shouts.

“When we were young and crazy, and would come out here just because we loved gambling in the desert, these 50 songs would have been perfect,” the room shouts. “But now we’re older, and have more diverse and refined tastes.”

“Top 100 is what we had been hoping for, and we wish you’d understand that,” they shout. “As a crowd, we just want to feel respected, unbearably cool, and safe.”

“Shut your dumb ears, DJ Musik,” shouts Leysa as your finger hovers above the soundboard. “These people don’t know what they want. They’d get hyped to Top 500 if you let them.”

Deep, deep down, you know Leysa is right, DJ Musik. But DJ Musik loves the crowd. He came from the crowd, and he was born in a crowd. But should he change for the crowd?

“Bad call, DJ Musik,” the crowd yells. “We thought you knew better.”

“Alone, each of us is only one mindless dancer,” they shout. “But together, we are many mindless dancers.”

“Now, who wants to listen to songs that we have heard but don’t like all that much?” they scream in unison.

DJ Musik, you are now DJ Construction Worker—DJ Construction for short. You, DJ Construction, are in charge of rebuilding Leysa’s Club Jenga from the ground up, because you are strong and suave and wonderful.

But still, DJ Construction, you look in the mirror and spin sad songs at night. DJ Construction, you probably believe manual labor is below you, right?

“Wow, great job not feeling emasculated while taking their feelings into account,” says Leysa, extending her hand. “I am truly very impressed.”

“It’s true, that was very progressive and respectful of you,” the crowd yells.

“DJ Musik, you’re the only one who has the Top 100 songs on their playlist.” she yells. “As a club owner, it’s my responsibility to create a safe space for sleeping with lots of women, and today you showed me that I haven’t been doing that.”

“Will you help me?”

“You will respect her as your peer.”

“But we didn’t take that oath” says the club in unison.

“And neither did I,” says the judge. “Normally if witnesses dance on the stand I get upset, but now, I demand that you never stop.”

DJ Musik, which piece of evidence from your case will you play to get the courtroom funky?

“It’s true, and it’s incredible,” says your lawyer. “The CIA has been trying to do that for decades, and he managed to do it during one three-hour session.”

“They keep getting distracted by how great the tunes are, but that has never happened to DJ Musik,” says the judge. “We could use a guy like you in our government.”

“People of the jury, what do you guys think of giving DJ Musik a job?” shouts the judge.

“You will hurry up, DJ Musik.”

“You will battle now, DJ Musik.”