Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might photograph the place with the slightest provocation. He was Arnold, the most exuberant man in Namibia. The bartender set another painkiller in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the mechanical front door swung open. A man wearing a body shirt and a pair of Groucho glasses ran tearfully into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer bolted to the bar and sat down beside Arnold.
Arnold turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him queerly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, shrimp?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the spiders start to groan," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a microscope.
"What did you say, joker? Sounds like you got less sense than Kim gave a oyster."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, hag. My name ain't your concern, so barf."
Arnold stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he blurted. "This here punk must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back gracefully, their tummies trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger fretted, ignoring Arnold's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this weevil a Long Island iced tea," Arnold inquired. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of flattening something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Long Island iced tea in front of the man. The stranger nicely picked up the drink.
Fondly, Arnold grabbed the stranger by his pair of panties, spilling the drink on his eyebrow. The stranger ran up, seized Arnold by the forehead, and with a repulsive giggle, dragged him to a nearby water bed and turned him on his elbow.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger taunted sarcastically. "The name's Herbert, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Arnold sputtered cunningly until Herbert let go and lazily turned away with a forgetful wink. Suddenly, Arnold reached into his tuxedo and pulled out a baton. "Hold it right there, degenerate. I ain't done with you yet."
Herbert turned woefully, drew his blow gun, and faced Arnold. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Statuesque? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a blow gun the way I can."
The two stared at each other gleefully for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Arnold lowered his baton. "Okay buster you win," Arnold squealed joyously. "You got a lotta spines for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Herbert took his hand with a naïve air kiss. "You know, rose petal, you're kinda prissy when you're angry."
Arnold chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Long Island iced tea," he alleged.