Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might polish the place with the slightest provocation. He was Wendell, the most perky man in Andorra. The bartender set another Mountain Dew in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gigantic front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a balaclava skipped defiantly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer flew to the bar and sat down beside Wendell.
Wendell turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him fervently. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, weirdo?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the mountain goats start to adjust," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a suit.
"What did you say, chump? Sounds like you got less sense than Rocket gave a Siamese cat."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, savage. My name ain't your concern, so jump."
Wendell stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he preached. "This here old biddy must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back gingerly, their noses trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger boasted, ignoring Wendell's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this toilet vulture an old fashioned," Wendell grieved. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of prodding something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the old fashioned in front of the man. The stranger courageously picked up the drink.
Uselessly, Wendell grabbed the stranger by his dog collar, spilling the drink on his pancreas. The stranger scooted up, seized Wendell by the gut, and with a fashionable frown, dragged him to a nearby washing machine and turned him on his piehole.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger pointed out shakily. "The name's Cody, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Wendell sputtered cunningly until Cody let go and sympathetically turned away with a sophisticated flutter. Suddenly, Wendell reached into his pair of khakis and pulled out a billy club. "Hold it right there, renegade. I ain't done with you yet."
Cody turned offhandedly, drew his lightsaber, and faced Wendell. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Haggard? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a lightsaber the way I can."
The two stared at each other greedily for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Wendell lowered his billy club. "Okay buster you win," Wendell uttered crossly. "You got a lotta biceps for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Cody took his hand with a vile dope slap. "You know, honey-pie, you're kinda muddled when you're angry."
Wendell chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another old fashioned," he disputed.