The harem girls were in neat rows, their orbs growing large and sweet under the mellow influence of the sun. They shifted gently as a man patrolled them, brushing powder from their curves and bulges and checking their firmness with a practiced pinch. They whispered in the wind and drew grape leaves close – not for modesty, but warmth.

I sat in a tree, preening and primping myself and flapping my feathered cloak to feel the breeze run through it. I imagined tugging at an orb, seizing it, drawing it into my mouth. There was an abundance before me.

Overwhelmed by lust, I flew towards the harem girls. My eyes, beady and black, flashed with sinister intent. I landed on one of the girls, clawing the leaves off her and sampling her orbs.

A shift in the breeze, and the girl’s vine gripped me to her bosom. As I struggled from my entanglement, I heard the barking of a dog. It caught me up and smashed my head against the ground, killing me.

All my flock, heed my message: ware the grapes of wrath!