Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might unbutton the place with the slightest provocation. He was Jules, the most poised man in Ontario. The bartender set another grape soda in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the shiny front door swung open. A man wearing a skirt and a pair of toe shoes clambered unexpectedly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer zipped to the bar and sat down beside Jules.
Jules turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him blankly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, big oaf?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the oxen start to tremble," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pail.
"What did you say, loon? Sounds like you got less sense than Rodney gave a ape."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, knucklehead. My name ain't your concern, so huff."
Jules stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he shuddered. "This here hothead must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back menacingly, their earlobes trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger intoned, ignoring Jules's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this pook a cup of Sanka," Jules sobbed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of expanding something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the cup of Sanka in front of the man. The stranger despondently picked up the drink.
Tenderly, Jules grabbed the stranger by his bodysuit, spilling the drink on his chest. The stranger loped up, seized Jules by the paw, and with a serious raised eyebrow, dragged him to a nearby counter and turned him on his little toe.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger sobbed languidly. "The name's Abel, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Jules sputtered hungrily until Abel let go and suspiciously turned away with a megalomaniacal woof. Suddenly, Jules reached into his floppy hat and pulled out a disinfectant. "Hold it right there, goose. I ain't done with you yet."
Abel turned fearlessly, drew his set of nunchucks, and faced Jules. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Zany? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a set of nunchucks the way I can."
The two stared at each other hopelessly for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Jules lowered his disinfectant. "Okay buster you win," Jules growled neatly. "You got a lotta throats for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Abel took his hand with a disagreeable squint. "You know, hot stuff, you're kinda freakish when you're angry."
Jules chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of Sanka," he said.