Look! I have contraband! Soon the G-men will bust into my apartment, riffle through my kitchen drawers, and arrest me for possession of a regular can opener. I will be hauled before Congress to confess my crimes and turn in my neighbors. Then they will leave me to rot in a secret CIA prison. “But I just needed to open some cans!” I’ll cry hoarsely from my cell, as I scratch out the days and years I’ve been in the cell.
I gotta sign onto that lawsuit. I need to open cans.