It was a dark and stormy night. A bad night to be out in it. But I drive a cab. So I’m out in it. I spend all my money on ornate 17th century art and then decorate my vehicle with it. I’m a baroque cab.
I have so much stuff, I only have room for me and one passenger. I’m a “two-hole” cab.
C’mon on all you Uber dudes, I’d like to see you make puns like that.
I look out the window and see this dame I know. Rose Quartz is her name. She’s a one-of-a-kind.
She’s soaking wet and the drops are hanging off her, sparkling in the night.
There might be a moonstone up there somewhere
But the night is as black as Onyx.
Or Black Spinel
Or even as black as lava. Cold lava, that is.
I pull over, and she opens the door.
“Hey,” she says. “I haven’t seen you in forever, Amber.”
“Get in,” I say. “And don’t call me Amber.”
“Surely, you jest.” she replied.
“And don’t call me Shirley,” I snapped.
“Fine,” she snapped back, Sardonyxly.
“What do you want me to call you?”
“Ohhhh,” I pause, thinking fast, “Sean. Sean Jasper.”
“Oh, Sean Jasper.” She repeated. “Okay, Ocean Jasper.”
“Listen,” she says. “I need a favor. I’m between a Rock Crystal and a hard place. It’s a one-of-a-kind opportunity. Or, very limited, anyway.”
“I get the point, sister.”
“What is it?” I ask, knowing that whatever it was, it would be a druzy.
“I need a ride to the Electric Carnival.”
“Okay,” I said. “You got it. I’ll drop you off at the gate. Or Agate.”
And with that – we sped away into the night. I knew she was going to meet her short, no-good, boyfriend. He’s a sailor, but making his living stealing on the high seas.
He’s a 2mm Pyrite.
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