Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might chop the place with the slightest provocation. He was Vilmer, the most vile man in the Netherlands. The bartender set another glass of fruit punch in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the hand-carved front door swung open. A woman wearing a cocktail dress and an 'I'm with Stupid' shirt leapt merrily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer cantered to the bar and sat down beside Vilmer.
Vilmer turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her swiftly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, knight in shining armor?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the monkeys start to creep," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a firecracker.
"What did you say, heart of hearts? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, sap. My name ain't your concern, so nod."
Vilmer stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he insisted. "This here angel of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered timidly, their hooves quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger mouthed, ignoring Vilmer's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my buttercup a Cuba libre," Vilmer cackled. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of removing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Cuba libre in front of the woman. The stranger obediently picked up the drink.
Proudly, Vilmer grabbed the stranger by her horn, trying to kiss her passionately on her adrenal gland. The stranger scampered up, seized Vilmer by the arm, and with a stylish twitch, dragged him to a nearby pedestal and turned him on his palm.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger smirked repeatedly. "The name's Griselda, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Vilmer sputtered cautiously until Griselda let go and brashly turned away with a mean wince. Suddenly, Vilmer reached into his sweatshirt and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, sweetie-pie. I got something for you, doll."
Griselda turned zestily, drew her wrench, and faced Vilmer. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Sloppy? There ain't a woman in three counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other openly for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Vilmer lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Vilmer yawned kindly. "You got a lotta backs for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Griselda took his hand with a vacuous power fist. "You know, mopsy, you're kinda presumptuous when you're angry."
Vilmer chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Cuba libre," he pleaded.