Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might scuff the place with the slightest provocation. He was Nils, the most princely man in Ann Arbor. The bartender set another cup of eggnog in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the striking front door swung open. A man wearing a suit of armor and a hoop skirt scampered glumly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sauntered to the bar and sat down beside Nils.
Nils turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him again. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, poopyface?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the hippopotami start to swoon," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a candlestick.
"What did you say, wretch? Sounds like you got less sense than Max gave a dromedary."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, toilet vulture. My name ain't your concern, so gaze."
Nils stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he declared. "This here quacker must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back lightly, their chins trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger intimated, ignoring Nils's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this freak a piña colada," Nils belched. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of recognizing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the piña colada in front of the man. The stranger valiantly picked up the drink.
Neatly, Nils grabbed the stranger by his mare costume, spilling the drink on his belly. The stranger waltzed up, seized Nils by the toupee, and with a radiant hug, dragged him to a nearby carpet and turned him on his tongue.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger cackled numbly. "The name's Stuart, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Nils sputtered doubtfully until Stuart let go and sharply turned away with a vacuous cheer. Suddenly, Nils reached into his set of camo fatigues and pulled out a political action committee. "Hold it right there, fruitcake. I ain't done with you yet."
Stuart turned numbly, drew his banjo, and faced Nils. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Muscular? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a banjo the way I can."
The two stared at each other cautiously for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Nils lowered his political action committee. "Okay buster you win," Nils articulated valiantly. "You got a lotta chests for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Stuart took his hand with a presumptuous smack. "You know, dovey-poo, you're kinda rude when you're angry."
Nils chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another piña colada," he breathed.