Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might cook the place with the slightest provocation. He was Morton, the most bilious man in Germany. The bartender set another hot toddy in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the odd front door swung open. A man wearing a tutu and a sport coat waltzed lamely into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sailed to the bar and sat down beside Morton.
Morton turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him automatically. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, harebrain?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the pumas start to get along," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a telephone.
"What did you say, screwball? Sounds like you got less sense than Stanley gave a shrew."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, boogerhead. My name ain't your concern, so ponder."
Morton stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he expressed. "This here chowderhead must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back firmly, their bellies trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger proposed, ignoring Morton's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this floozy a dose of cod liver oil," Morton growled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of yanking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the dose of cod liver oil in front of the man. The stranger neatly picked up the drink.
Vigorously, Morton grabbed the stranger by his wet suit, spilling the drink on his earlobe. The stranger slipped up, seized Morton by the heel, and with a weird raised eyebrow, dragged him to a nearby bookcase and turned him on his stomach.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger quavered automatically. "The name's William, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Morton sputtered deftly until William let go and again turned away with a brilliant simper. Suddenly, Morton reached into his jumper and pulled out a street sweeper. "Hold it right there, psycho. I ain't done with you yet."
William turned caustically, drew his truncheon, and faced Morton. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Bad? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a truncheon the way I can."
The two stared at each other carefully for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Morton lowered his street sweeper. "Okay buster you win," Morton responded positively. "You got a lotta knuckles for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. William took his hand with a disorganized smirk. "You know, snuggle bear, you're kinda queer when you're angry."
Morton chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another dose of cod liver oil," he retorted.