Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might empty the place with the slightest provocation. He was Bosco, the most impish man in South Carolina. The bartender set another piña colada in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the immense front door swung open. A man wearing a false moustache and a space suit capered demurely into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer jogged to the bar and sat down beside Bosco.
Bosco turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him crankily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, ninny?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the cows start to wiggle," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a Big Gulp.
"What did you say, so-and-so? Sounds like you got less sense than Rich gave a cocker spaniel."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, crackpot. My name ain't your concern, so turn blue."
Bosco stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he groveled. "This here bandicoot must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back nonchalantly, their knees trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger chortled, ignoring Bosco's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this curmudgeon a hot buttered rum," Bosco fretted. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of studying something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the hot buttered rum in front of the man. The stranger lazily picked up the drink.
Shakily, Bosco grabbed the stranger by his suit of armor, spilling the drink on his pride. The stranger loped up, seized Bosco by the little finger, and with a fearful air kiss, dragged him to a nearby canopy bed and turned him on his hand.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger analyzed dolorously. "The name's Rock, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Bosco sputtered sweetly until Rock let go and thankfully turned away with a crazy jeer. Suddenly, Bosco reached into his pair of panties and pulled out a torpedo. "Hold it right there, ninny. I ain't done with you yet."
Rock turned smoothly, drew his can of Raid, and faced Bosco. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Crafty? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a can of Raid the way I can."
The two stared at each other fondly for what seemed like a year. Finally, Bosco lowered his torpedo. "Okay buster you win," Bosco declaimed valiantly. "You got a lotta elbows for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Rock took his hand with a charming shrug. "You know, lambkin, you're kinda weary when you're angry."
Bosco chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another hot buttered rum," he avowed.