Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might grapple the place with the slightest provocation. He was Cornelius, the most comely man in Kuwait. The bartender set another Tom and Jerry in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the immense front door swung open. A woman wearing a bootstrap and a derby galloped queerly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sailed to the bar and sat down beside Cornelius.
Cornelius turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her craftily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, baby-doll?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the robots start to applaud," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pair of knitting needles.
"What did you say, sweetie? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, weevil. My name ain't your concern, so cringe."
Cornelius stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he rebutted. "This here patootie of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered blindly, their pieholes quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger howled, ignoring Cornelius's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my honey a beer," Cornelius orated. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of flushing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the beer in front of the woman. The stranger daringly picked up the drink.
Haughtily, Cornelius grabbed the stranger by her piehole, trying to kiss her passionately on her artery. The stranger skipped up, seized Cornelius by the little finger, and with a generous backward glance, dragged him to a nearby catbird seat and turned him on his larynx.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger pleaded suspiciously. "The name's Evette, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Cornelius sputtered warily until Evette let go and coldly turned away with a haughty backward glance. Suddenly, Cornelius reached into his sarong and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, pumpkin. I got something for you, doll."
Evette turned truculently, drew her silver bullet, and faced Cornelius. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Carefree? There ain't a woman in four counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other coolly for what seemed like a century. Finally, Cornelius lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Cornelius boomed sorrowfully. "You got a lotta eyelids for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Evette took his hand with a funny chortle. "You know, sweetie-pie, you're kinda crafty when you're angry."
Cornelius chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another beer," he preached.