Cloyce's classy dame

A friend of Grandpa Joe's, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, wanted Joe to meet his new girlfriend. Joe had little interest in that; Cloyce was notoriously poor when picking out the ladies. "Nah. I ain't interested in none of your cattle," Grandpa said.

"Ah, come on, Joe. This one's a real classy dame," Cloyce insisted. So Grandpa went along with him. I suppose his curiosity had been piqued.

Joe became concerned as Cloyce drove into the wharf section of the town they were working in, parking in front of a seedy bar along the loading docks. "Why are we here?" Joe asked.

"She works here."

"Aw Hell", remarked my grandfather in one of his best Aw Hell tones. An incredulous Aw Hell I would imagine.

They went in and seated themselves at the bar, with Cloyce's classy dame as their server. After a bit of chitchat the woman nonchalantly reached under the bar and pulled out a pair of pliers. She latched onto one of her molars and began working the tooth back and forth, back and forth, until she triumphantly yanked it from her jaw. Tossing the tooth into a nearby wastebasket and spitting blood into an ashtray she said, "That one won't give no more trouble."

"She sure is a classy dame, Cloyce", Joe said, as he made for the door.