Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might squash the place with the slightest provocation. He was Dean, the most enraged man in Illinois. The bartender set another tequila sunrise in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the flaky front door swung open. A woman wearing a diamond necklace and a swimsuit slunk sagely into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer blundered to the bar and sat down beside Dean.
Dean turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her grudgingly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, hon?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the phantoms start to play," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a backpack.
"What did you say, heart of hearts? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, lubberly lout. My name ain't your concern, so tread water."
Dean stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he chimed. "This here twinkie of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered hungrily, their bladders quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger repeated, ignoring Dean's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my little chickadee a cup of eggnog," Dean simpered. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of recommending something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of eggnog in front of the woman. The stranger positively picked up the drink.
Sheepishly, Dean grabbed the stranger by her piehole, trying to kiss her passionately on her foot. The stranger zipped up, seized Dean by the intestine, and with a hungry death glare, dragged him to a nearby hammock and turned him on his knee.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger moaned accidentally. "The name's Winifred, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Dean sputtered accidentally until Winifred let go and softly turned away with a demented flinch. Suddenly, Dean reached into his cloak and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, stinkums. I got something for you, doll."
Winifred turned dreamily, drew her pistol, and faced Dean. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Absent-minded? There ain't a woman in three counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other gleefully for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Dean lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Dean protested fondly. "You got a lotta little fingers for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Winifred took his hand with a crazy roar. "You know, bud, you're kinda jolly when you're angry."
Dean chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of eggnog," he provoked.