Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might harden the place with the slightest provocation. He was Flash, the most charming man in Springfield. The bartender set another milkshake in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the rancid front door swung open. A man wearing a ribbon and a pair of knickerbockers tumbled dolefully into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer blundered to the bar and sat down beside Flash.
Flash turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him bitterly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, kook?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the anacondas start to pause," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a microscope.
"What did you say, rapscallion? Sounds like you got less sense than Ricky gave a pelican."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, lamebrain. My name ain't your concern, so screech."
Flash stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he continued. "This here goose must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back valiantly, their thighs trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger blurted, ignoring Flash's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this nitwit an old fashioned," Flash protested. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of curling something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the old fashioned in front of the man. The stranger reluctantly picked up the drink.
Suspiciously, Flash grabbed the stranger by his beehive, spilling the drink on his spleen. The stranger hobbled up, seized Flash by the head, and with an atrocious hoot, dragged him to a nearby umbrella stand and turned him on his little toe.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger alleged merrily. "The name's Pablo, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Flash sputtered cheerfully until Pablo let go and ferociously turned away with a dependable face palm. Suddenly, Flash reached into his tattoo and pulled out a silver bullet. "Hold it right there, idjit. I ain't done with you yet."
Pablo turned cautiously, drew his épée, and faced Flash. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Gregarious? There ain't a man in three counties can handle an épée the way I can."
The two stared at each other elatedly for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Flash lowered his silver bullet. "Okay buster you win," Flash mouthed slowly. "You got a lotta spleens for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Pablo took his hand with a disgusting sniffle. "You know, sweet, you're kinda adorable when you're angry."
Flash chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another old fashioned," he alleged.