Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might slam the place with the slightest provocation. He was Milo, the most mindless man in Casablanca. The bartender set another ice cream soda in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the ornate front door swung open. A woman wearing a girdle and a bomber jacket scampered silently into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer barrelled to the bar and sat down beside Milo.
Milo turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her madly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, sweet pea?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the donkeys start to get sleepy," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a protest sign.
"What did you say, pipkin? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, hoodlum. My name ain't your concern, so digest."
Milo stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he sobbed. "This here sweet pea of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered victoriously, their toenails quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger whined, ignoring Milo's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my punkin a whiskey sour," Milo proposed. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of experiencing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the whiskey sour in front of the woman. The stranger fearlessly picked up the drink.
Languidly, Milo grabbed the stranger by her palm, trying to kiss her passionately on her ankle. The stranger bounced up, seized Milo by the buttocks, and with a cunning hoot, dragged him to a nearby windowsill and turned him on his adrenal gland.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger added menacingly. "The name's Velma, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Milo sputtered steadily until Velma let go and shakily turned away with a noxious crow. Suddenly, Milo reached into his pair of shoes and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, cream puff. I got something for you, doll."
Velma turned demurely, drew her whip, and faced Milo. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Angry? There ain't a woman in six counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other vigorously for what seemed like a week. Finally, Milo lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Milo remarked suspiciously. "You got a lotta pinkies for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Velma took his hand with an attractive snuffle. "You know, toodleums, you're kinda furry when you're angry."
Milo chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another whiskey sour," he spoke up.