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An Arabian jewel, she thought, I need one. 'Reaching behind the monkey,' if you know what I mean, she grasped a priceless nugget and pocketed it. The man in grey winced loudly and clawed at the scorpion she threw behind the monkey, if he could only reach the alarm button in side! His weak point was forethought, and rarely knew the best location for hummus pie in Syria. She escaped deftly, leaving the monkey behind to scratch its armpit and, if you know what I mean, you should by now, shut the escape pod and hatch the tweetie-bird. It sparkled lustily in the ships interior lights, shimmering with pellucid luster, and waited to be fed to the little hatchling. A soft music played loudly on the radio. A gentle breeze billowed her long, black robes. She settled to examine the nugget carefully, hoping it matched the photo of her dead uncle's. The will's remaining directions included marrying the monkey accompanying him to balls, with the Tweeter Bird, but nothing of scorpions or the man in grey. Now, nugget in hand, she called to Allah for guidance, for patience. The monkey! She'd left him without his supporting actress, scorpion-a-phobic and all. Shaving his back would be hard...
