Some years back, I ran opium on the Spice Road with a couple of ex-Royal Navy boys and a Moroccan wanna-be-pirate sous chef name Osman. As we trod in the weary dust of Ghengis Khan and Casey Casem, we bedded many a fine exotic woman, among other exotic things. We were wanted in a half dozen Caliphats, typically for dromedariophilia, but that is another matter. At once we found ourselves in a murky, misty bar in Constantinople, surrounded Djinni debutantes, looking for a table of Hold'em. While nothing could possibly sound more enticing than a little Persian strip poker, Osman begged our pardon, as we were bespoke. At which point, the demure Djinni nymph leader politely excused us, murmuring "Now I owe you an apology. I has assumed you were a guy."
That was original. I can't believe you ripped it off.