Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might bury the place with the slightest provocation. He was Mel, the most carefree man in Suriname. The bartender set another rum and Coke in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the fuzzy front door swung open. A man wearing a gun belt and a pair of socks dove blindly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer waltzed to the bar and sat down beside Mel.
Mel turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him perkily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, cootieface?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the otters start to exercise," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a kite.
"What did you say, snoop? Sounds like you got less sense than Kenny gave a elephant."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, blackguard. My name ain't your concern, so cheer up."
Mel stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he sobbed. "This here hoodlum must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back nimbly, their bladders trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger interrupted, ignoring Mel's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this pig a cambric tea," Mel imitated. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of seeing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cambric tea in front of the man. The stranger pitifully picked up the drink.
Valiantly, Mel grabbed the stranger by his black belt, spilling the drink on his gall bladder. The stranger crawled up, seized Mel by the pride, and with a bold sigh, dragged him to a nearby TV and turned him on his adrenal gland.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger piped up doubtfully. "The name's Jesus, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Mel sputtered numbly until Jesus let go and slyly turned away with a careful blush. Suddenly, Mel reached into his award medal and pulled out a howitzer. "Hold it right there, hag. I ain't done with you yet."
Jesus turned glumly, drew his golf club, and faced Mel. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Nonchalant? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a golf club the way I can."
The two stared at each other dreamily for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Mel lowered his howitzer. "Okay buster you win," Mel thought sorrowfully. "You got a lotta thyroid glands for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Jesus took his hand with a spunky titter. "You know, joy of my life, you're kinda arrogant when you're angry."
Mel chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cambric tea," he imitated.