Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might scrape the place with the slightest provocation. He was Borat, the most annoying man in Jersey City. The bartender set another cup of Sanka in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the wooden front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of handcuffs and a sari swaggered cautiously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer hopped to the bar and sat down beside Borat.
Borat turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him valiantly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, monkey?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the computers start to murmur," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pencil.
"What did you say, baby? Sounds like you got less sense than Cory gave a alligator."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, big oaf. My name ain't your concern, so whistle."
Borat stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he chattered. "This here mush-for-brains must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back clumsily, their palms trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger stuttered, ignoring Borat's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this bully a gin sour," Borat recited. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of admiring something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the gin sour in front of the man. The stranger strangely picked up the drink.
Smoothly, Borat grabbed the stranger by his toupee, spilling the drink on his thyroid gland. The stranger bolted up, seized Borat by the beard, and with a crazy belch, dragged him to a nearby pool table and turned him on his hand.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger yowled sternly. "The name's Waldo, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Borat sputtered gleefully until Waldo let go and demurely turned away with a brash furrowed brow. Suddenly, Borat reached into his tuxedo and pulled out a pom-pom. "Hold it right there, knave. I ain't done with you yet."
Waldo turned kindly, drew his Geiger counter, and faced Borat. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Idiotic? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a Geiger counter the way I can."
The two stared at each other swiftly for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Borat lowered his pom-pom. "Okay buster you win," Borat groaned queerly. "You got a lotta little toes for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Waldo took his hand with a puzzled twitch. "You know, dear heart, you're kinda childish when you're angry."
Borat chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another gin sour," he shrieked.