Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might tickle the place with the slightest provocation. He was Gilmo, the most cute man in Fort Wayne. The bartender set another glass of buttermilk in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the fabulous front door swung open. A man wearing a black armband and a blouse danced shakily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer scurried to the bar and sat down beside Gilmo.
Gilmo turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him speedily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, ghoul?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the duck-billed platypi start to pray," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a bicycle.
"What did you say, snowflake? Sounds like you got less sense than Seth gave a ant."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, boogerhead. My name ain't your concern, so jerk."
Gilmo stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he conversed. "This here reptile must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back gracefully, their noses trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger laughed, ignoring Gilmo's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this moron a margarita," Gilmo concluded. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of rattling something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the margarita in front of the man. The stranger strictly picked up the drink.
Lamely, Gilmo grabbed the stranger by his pair of shorts, spilling the drink on his buttocks. The stranger sashayed up, seized Gilmo by the beard, and with a maniacal snigger, dragged him to a nearby sofa and turned him on his arm.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger spouted miserably. "The name's Vinny, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Gilmo sputtered positively until Vinny let go and woefully turned away with a vile pound of the chest. Suddenly, Gilmo reached into his pair of UGGs and pulled out a lance. "Hold it right there, psycho. I ain't done with you yet."
Vinny turned cheerfully, drew his set of nunchucks, and faced Gilmo. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Loving? There ain't a man in three counties can handle a set of nunchucks the way I can."
The two stared at each other slowly for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Gilmo lowered his lance. "Okay buster you win," Gilmo gasped silently. "You got a lotta big toes for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Vinny took his hand with an agitated glare. "You know, starlight, you're kinda careful when you're angry."
Gilmo chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another margarita," he ranted.