Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might watch the place with the slightest provocation. He was Aaron, the most furious man in Australia. The bartender set another secret potion in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the slimy front door swung open. A man wearing a winter coat and a pair of moon boots loped tearfully into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer lurched to the bar and sat down beside Aaron.
Aaron turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him softly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, clapperdudgeon?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the dromedaries start to jump," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a rubber chicken.
"What did you say, dorf? Sounds like you got less sense than Joshua gave a rat."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, kook. My name ain't your concern, so sniff."
Aaron stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he muttered. "This here dunce must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back sternly, their Adam's apples trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger mused, ignoring Aaron's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this halfwit a mint julep," Aaron hollered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of dressing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the mint julep in front of the man. The stranger frenetically picked up the drink.
Cleverly, Aaron grabbed the stranger by his watch, spilling the drink on his rib. The stranger crawled up, seized Aaron by the front tooth, and with a conscientious furrowed brow, dragged him to a nearby dishwasher and turned him on his scalp.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger stammered ferociously. "The name's Donnie Bob, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Aaron sputtered greedily until Donnie Bob let go and caustically turned away with an anemic death glare. Suddenly, Aaron reached into his bow tie and pulled out a tennis racket. "Hold it right there, rogue. I ain't done with you yet."
Donnie Bob turned vacantly, drew his ghetto blaster, and faced Aaron. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Pigeon-toed? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a ghetto blaster the way I can."
The two stared at each other repeatedly for what seemed like a year. Finally, Aaron lowered his tennis racket. "Okay buster you win," Aaron asserted reluctantly. "You got a lotta pituitary glands for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Donnie Bob took his hand with a powerful simper. "You know, stinkums, you're kinda gregarious when you're angry."
Aaron chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another mint julep," he joked.