The episode with Morty

Two faded Southern belles named Faye and Noreen are sitting at the bar. A local journalist had found Noreen after asking some people about the club she used to work at back in the late 60s. Her friend Faye had told the reporter that her pal Noreen had loads of good stories about the place: the owner's Mob ties, drunk celebrities making asses of themselves, the one-legged go-go dancer who hopped around in a cage above the dance floor....

"Go on, Noreen, tell him that story about Morty........".

Noreen chuckles, rolls her heavily made up eyes and smirks.

"Oh jeez.........OK." She sighs.

"I used to work in a club in downtown Dallas, back when I was 19. The drinking age was 19 then so I had just started working there as a waitress.
The owner was this ridiculously short Jewish feller named Morty, who had originally bought the club from Jack Ruby back in the early 60s. Morty could not have been more than 5 feet tall standing on his toes. He was about 80-some odd years old then and used to follow the dancers around and have conversations with their tits.....you know the type: always on the make. Always pinching asses and so on. I was just a mousy waitress and not as bodacious as the dancers, so he pretty much ignored me until this one Saturday.

So, Morty asks me to come in early one Saturday to do some cleaning. I'm sweeping the floor in the dancers' dressing room and I hear the door close behind me. I was supposed to be the only one there, you know, so it startled me. I turn around and there's Morty, with not a stitch of clothing on. Stark naked, hands on hips with a big smile and a HUGE boner. 

Now..... I don't see how he didn't tip over. He must have been nicknamed "Tripod". So I'm standing there with my mouth open, staring like a damn deer in the headlights.

This tiny wrinkled old man with a giant prong is leering at me from the door. He winks at me.

"Good morning. I see you're here early today", says Morty, in his thick New York accent.

I stammered out, "Uhhhh, hi Morty, just sweeping up in here! Good lord, where are your pants? You'll catch pneumonia!"

Morty started moving in my direction so I barreled past him through the door, almost knocking him over. I was afraid he would latch onto my leg on the way out and start humping me like a dog. I threw aside the broom and ran out the back door.

He called me into his office the next day. I figured he was going to fire me. He sat behind his cluttered desk, took the cigar stub out of his mouth and smiled genially at me. I squirmed in my chair.

Morty said in his thick Brooklyn accent, "I want to apologize for yesterday. I'm afraid that I may have scared youse. My manhood has inspired fearful reactions befoah due to its awesome propoahtions. But errrr,.......maybe you're interested now that you know what to expect?"

"Uhhhhh, no thanks, Morty. I'll pass." I tried not to gag.

So, Morty didn't fire me. He didn't stop trying to nail me, either. He would have needed a bucket to stand on, anyway. I worked there for a year or so more, then I met my husband and we got married. Now my daughter is expecting our first grand baby." 

Noreen ended up marrying a mechanic. They lived in a little clapboard house in a suburb of Dallas where her husband started his own car repair shop, and had three kids, two boys and a girl. 

Faye says, "What are they gonna call the baby, Noreen? Have they picked a name yet?"

Proudly, Noreen says, "Yes! It's a boy, so he be called Stihl, spelled S-T-I-H-L, like the brand of farm equipment. Doesn't that sound masculine? His little school friends will think he's so cool."'

Faye is stunned. "They're naming that baby after a chain saw? His little school friends will call him Leatherface!"