Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might jab the place with the slightest provocation. He was Karl, the most timid man in Zambia. The bartender set another Dr. Pepper in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the broken front door swung open. A man wearing a gold medal and a Stetson hat strode busily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sailed to the bar and sat down beside Karl.
Karl turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him gracefully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, pighead?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the warthogs start to gaze," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an advertisement.
"What did you say, dumbbell? Sounds like you got less sense than Logan gave a cougar."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, twerp. My name ain't your concern, so meditate."
Karl stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he squawked. "This here wingnut must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back violently, their Achilles tendons trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger recited, ignoring Karl's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this fink an old fashioned," Karl remarked. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of marking 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 sorrowfully picked up the drink.
Grandly, Karl grabbed the stranger by his Armani suit, spilling the drink on his brain. The stranger barrelled up, seized Karl by the bicep, and with a talkative air kiss, dragged him to a nearby canopy bed and turned him on his thigh.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger swore lamely. "The name's Alistair, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Karl sputtered madly until Alistair let go and delicately turned away with a sophisticated power fist. Suddenly, Karl reached into his diaper and pulled out an assault rifle. "Hold it right there, savage. I ain't done with you yet."
Alistair turned nicely, drew his switchblade, and faced Karl. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Relaxed? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a switchblade the way I can."
The two stared at each other again for what seemed like a fortnight. Finally, Karl lowered his assault rifle. "Okay buster you win," Karl cackled sarcastically. "You got a lotta wrists for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Alistair took his hand with a loving sniff. "You know, twinkie, you're kinda articulate when you're angry."
Karl chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another old fashioned," he bawled.