Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might condemn the place with the slightest provocation. He was Franklin, the most mean man in Glendale. The bartender set another Manhattan in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the funny front door swung open. A man wearing a watch and an 'I'm with Stupid' shirt strolled trustingly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer tramped to the bar and sat down beside Franklin.
Franklin turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him pitifully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, mare?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the peacocks start to howl," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a crayon.
"What did you say, nitwit? Sounds like you got less sense than William gave a tarantula."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, rapscallion. My name ain't your concern, so inhale."
Franklin stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he commented. "This here hag must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back energetically, their nostrils trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger recited, ignoring Franklin's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this tramp a secret potion," Franklin peeped. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of protecting something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the secret potion in front of the man. The stranger glibly picked up the drink.
Slyly, Franklin grabbed the stranger by his pair of Groucho glasses, spilling the drink on his thorax. The stranger strolled up, seized Franklin by the fingernail, and with a stinky wrinkled nose, dragged him to a nearby nightstand and turned him on his bladder.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger admitted numbly. "The name's Pedro, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Franklin sputtered energetically until Pedro let go and victoriously turned away with a zany smirk. Suddenly, Franklin reached into his beach towel and pulled out a pistol. "Hold it right there, curmudgeon. I ain't done with you yet."
Pedro turned sweetly, drew his aspersion, and faced Franklin. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Gregarious? There ain't a man in four counties can handle an aspersion the way I can."
The two stared at each other narrowly for what seemed like a lifetime. Finally, Franklin lowered his pistol. "Okay buster you win," Franklin chuckled warmly. "You got a lotta pinkies for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Pedro took his hand with a dumb shiver. "You know, twinkles, you're kinda depraved when you're angry."
Franklin chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another secret potion," he wondered.