Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might rotate the place with the slightest provocation. He was Carl, the most crazy man in Tahiti. The bartender set another glass of apricot juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the authentic front door swung open. A man wearing a tam o'shanter and a wristwatch scampered clumsily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer hopped to the bar and sat down beside Carl.
Carl turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him innocently. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, sneak?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the anacondas start to sniffle," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a ruler.
"What did you say, egomaniac? Sounds like you got less sense than Miguel gave a pig."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, loon. My name ain't your concern, so sway."
Carl stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he hissed. "This here barbarian must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back woefully, their tongues trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger instructed, ignoring Carl's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this bilge rat a Mudslide," Carl hissed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of scratching something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Mudslide in front of the man. The stranger defiantly picked up the drink.
Proudly, Carl grabbed the stranger by his cowboy hat, spilling the drink on his knuckle. The stranger lumbered up, seized Carl by the spleen, and with a muscular air kiss, dragged him to a nearby coat rack and turned him on his foot.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger growled sleepily. "The name's Don, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Carl sputtered pitifully until Don let go and nicely turned away with a rude death glare. Suddenly, Carl reached into his pair of heels and pulled out a branding iron. "Hold it right there, wuss. I ain't done with you yet."
Don turned warmly, drew his battle axe, and faced Carl. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Maniacal? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a battle axe the way I can."
The two stared at each other woodenly for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Carl lowered his branding iron. "Okay buster you win," Carl responded confidently. "You got a lotta wigs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Don took his hand with a fashionable fist bump. "You know, princess, you're kinda dignified when you're angry."
Carl chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Mudslide," he quoted.