Ho ho ho ho ho

Daz Balba leaned over, and whispered in my ear. Mighty Garzha is in a pleasant
mood today, girl. You may yet be granted an opportunity to audition for His
Eminance.
Im thrilled, I replied, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. As important as
the audition would be, I couldnt exactly say that the chance to audition for the role
of exotic dancer for a giant, slimy slug-gangster was high on my list of much-desired
honors, certainly not to the extent Garzhas major domo was clearly considering it.
Why, I wondered, exactly did so many of my Twilek brothers wind up working for
Hutts anyway? Sure, xenophobia was a bitch, but Hutts? Sinking low, my friend.
Sinking low.
On the other hand, I was about to shake my shapely little rump for the
aforementioned slimebag, so whatever. Judge not, or whatever the Jedi saying is.
The Hutt was spread all over his dais, a hookah pumping something noxious and no
doubt illegal into his lungs, and the air was thick with smoke; from the hookah as
well as the thousand different blends of tabac smoked by the assorted criminals
lounging around. Just my luck I had to be assigned to a smoke-crazed crime-lord.
Ugggh, wouldnt surprise me if half a years pay went to getting a set of cloned
lungs to replace the ones this would clog up. And Id been hoping to save a little up,
too.