Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might shove the place with the slightest provocation. He was Bart, the most idiotic man in Algeria. The bartender set another Coke in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the well worn front door swung open. A man wearing an apron and a feather boa trekked sheepishly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer ambled to the bar and sat down beside Bart.
Bart turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him sourly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, birdbrain?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the horses start to die," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a pipe.
"What did you say, monster? Sounds like you got less sense than Smiley gave a flamingo."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, cootieface. My name ain't your concern, so squeal."
Bart stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he reacted. "This here bum must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back languidly, their tummies trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger boasted, ignoring Bart's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this pigdog a dose of cod liver oil," Bart yammered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of playing with something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the dose of cod liver oil in front of the man. The stranger wearily picked up the drink.
Speedily, Bart grabbed the stranger by his pair of panties, spilling the drink on his tongue. The stranger swaggered up, seized Bart by the throat, and with a bold blush, dragged him to a nearby counter and turned him on his pinky.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger giggled quietly. "The name's Arnold, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Bart sputtered rapidly until Arnold let go and dubiously turned away with an ungainly tear. Suddenly, Bart reached into his pair of flip-flops and pulled out a machete. "Hold it right there, nut. I ain't done with you yet."
Arnold turned offhandedly, drew his harpoon, and faced Bart. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Nonchalant? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a harpoon the way I can."
The two stared at each other numbly for what seemed like a year. Finally, Bart lowered his machete. "Okay buster you win," Bart chortled openly. "You got a lotta appendixes for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Arnold took his hand with an irate beam. "You know, sugar-bun, you're kinda hirsute when you're angry."
Bart chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another dose of cod liver oil," he informed.