Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might wiggle the place with the slightest provocation. He was Woody, the most generous man in Tallahassee. The bartender set another Mudslide in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the charming front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of ear muffs and a belly button jewel barrelled pitifully into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer careened to the bar and sat down beside Woody.
Woody turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him uselessly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, pigdog?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the tigers start to kneel," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a bugle.
"What did you say, scullery maid? Sounds like you got less sense than Frankie gave a dachshund."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, harebrain. My name ain't your concern, so growl."
Woody stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he harangued. "This here dope must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back tensely, their backs trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger pronounced, ignoring Woody's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this devil a glass of fruit punch," Woody joked. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of shaking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of fruit punch in front of the man. The stranger obediently picked up the drink.
Later, Woody grabbed the stranger by his kilt, spilling the drink on his thumb. The stranger loped up, seized Woody by the carotid artery, and with an intense sniffle, dragged him to a nearby bookcase and turned him on his abdomen.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger blurted fondly. "The name's Derek, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Woody sputtered gently until Derek let go and boisterously turned away with an angry sniff. Suddenly, Woody reached into his shawl and pulled out an insult. "Hold it right there, wraith. I ain't done with you yet."
Derek turned firmly, drew his piercing stare, and faced Woody. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Dumb? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a piercing stare the way I can."
The two stared at each other hungrily for what seemed like an hour. Finally, Woody lowered his insult. "Okay buster you win," Woody maintained ferociously. "You got a lotta claws for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Derek took his hand with a proud shout. "You know, honey-pie, you're kinda boring when you're angry."
Woody chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of fruit punch," he fantasized.