Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might abuse the place with the slightest provocation. He was Cliff, the most pert man in the United Kingdom. The bartender set another cup of tea in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gross front door swung open. A man wearing a flour sack and a headscarf whirled viciously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer danced to the bar and sat down beside Cliff.
Cliff turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him admiringly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, donkey?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the koalas start to suffer," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a saddle.
"What did you say, animal? Sounds like you got less sense than Deng gave a ladybug."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, oddball. My name ain't your concern, so huff."
Cliff stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he bellowed. "This here dingbat must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back crossly, their ankles trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger boasted, ignoring Cliff's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this ding dong a cup of eggnog," Cliff rebutted. "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 cup of eggnog in front of the man. The stranger offhandedly picked up the drink.
Sagely, Cliff grabbed the stranger by his pair of jeans, spilling the drink on his paw. The stranger rushed up, seized Cliff by the midriff, and with an anemic cheer, dragged him to a nearby china cabinet and turned him on his spinal cord.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger belched warmly. "The name's Nathan, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Cliff sputtered glibly until Nathan let go and courageously turned away with a sincere bound. Suddenly, Cliff reached into his veil and pulled out a wet washrag. "Hold it right there, prattling gabbler. I ain't done with you yet."
Nathan turned frenetically, drew his AK-47, and faced Cliff. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Refined? There ain't a man in four counties can handle an AK-47 the way I can."
The two stared at each other oddly for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Cliff lowered his wet washrag. "Okay buster you win," Cliff giggled valiantly. "You got a lotta horns for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Nathan took his hand with an irate grunt. "You know, Banana Cakes, you're kinda considerate when you're angry."
Cliff chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cup of eggnog," he boasted.