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Follicle follies

This was passed on to me by my intrepid father-in-law:

A woman wearing a tank-top sits down at a bar and raises her hand to gain the
bartender's attention, exposing a tuft of underarm hair that had not seen a
razor in months. The bartender, noticing the sickened look on his customer's
faces yet not wishing to insult the woman, tells her, "Ma'am, my name is
Charlie, and if you need a another drink, just say 'Hey Charlie,' to get my

"Okay," says the woman.

A few minutes later, after the woman emptied her glass, she raises her hand
again to get Charlie's attention. Patrons begin to leave the bar, disgusted
at the sight of her armpit foliage, and Charlie is losing patience with her.
"Ma'am, I told you to call my name if you needed anything," he tells the

"Hey Charlie, put her drink on my tab," a drunk at the other end of the bar
says. "I just love the ballet."

"Ballet?" Charlie asks. "What in the world do you mean?"

"Any woman who can lift her leg that high has got to be a ballerina," the
drunk replies.

(From the "Rest" of RHF)

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