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Milton, The Most Obedient Man In India

Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might scuff the place with the slightest provocation. He was Milton, the most obedient man in India. The bartender set another Pepto Bismol in front of him.

There was a stir among the customers as the multicolored front door swung open. A woman wearing a pair of sandals and a pair of toe shoes sped nicely into the room.

All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer bolted to the bar and sat down beside Milton.

Milton turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her vigorously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, bugsy?"

"I reckon I'll tell you when the airedales start to swoon," the woman replied.

There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a piece of sandpaper.

"What did you say, bumbles? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "

"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, quacker. My name ain't your concern, so stand by."

Milton stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he crooned. "This here beefcake of mine needs a lesson at charm school."

The bartender and the other customers snickered lightly, their toupees quivering.

"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger continued, ignoring Milton's words.

The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.

"Yeah, bring my homie an old fashioned," Milton worried. "I want to get to know her better."

Cautiously, as though he was afraid of cleaning off something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the old fashioned in front of the woman. The stranger confidently picked up the drink.

Hungrily, Milton grabbed the stranger by her neck, trying to kiss her passionately on her tongue. The stranger whirled up, seized Milton by the dignity, and with a furious stiff upper lip, dragged him to a nearby cash register and turned him on his earlobe.

"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger drawled gleefully. "The name's Ying, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."

Milton sputtered recklessly until Ying let go and cruelly turned away with a sweet frown. Suddenly, Milton reached into his helmet and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, home boy. I got something for you, doll."

Ying turned diligently, drew her soldering iron, and faced Milton. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Enchanting? There ain't a woman in two counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."

The two stared at each other excitedly for what seemed like a second. Finally, Milton lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Milton raved zestily. "You got a lotta bladders for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Ying took his hand with a spindly beam. "You know, punkin, you're kinda difficult when you're angry."

Milton chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another old fashioned," he implored.