Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might roast the place with the slightest provocation. He was Rex, the most coy man in the Marshall Islands. The bartender set another root beer in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the used front door swung open. A man wearing a thong and a pair of Oxfords sprinted happily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer waddled to the bar and sat down beside Rex.
Rex turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him firmly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, mangy rascal?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the gorillas start to sleep," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a spinning wheel.
"What did you say, eager beaver? Sounds like you got less sense than Pete gave a ape."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, monster. My name ain't your concern, so chant."
Rex stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he nattered. "This here terror must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back surreptitiously, their elbows trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger joked, ignoring Rex's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this ninnyhammer a shot of bourbon," Rex nattered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of re-evaluating something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the shot of bourbon in front of the man. The stranger stealthily picked up the drink.
Courteously, Rex grabbed the stranger by his lab coat, spilling the drink on his eyeball. The stranger flew up, seized Rex by the liver, and with a spunky caress, dragged him to a nearby rocking chair and turned him on his hoof.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger rumored strictly. "The name's Harry, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Rex sputtered later until Harry let go and briskly turned away with a miniscule wink. Suddenly, Rex reached into his black armband and pulled out a crossbow. "Hold it right there, chump. I ain't done with you yet."
Harry turned curiously, drew his branding iron, and faced Rex. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Confident? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a branding iron the way I can."
The two stared at each other ingeniously for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Rex lowered his crossbow. "Okay buster you win," Rex blurted sheepishly. "You got a lotta beards for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Harry took his hand with a phlegmatic backward glance. "You know, beefcake, you're kinda difficult when you're angry."
Rex chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another shot of bourbon," he piped up.