Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might rub the place with the slightest provocation. He was Warren, the most bouncy man in Japan. The bartender set another glass of carrot juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the valuable front door swung open. A man wearing a babushka and a bowler hat staggered despondently into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sped to the bar and sat down beside Warren.
Warren turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him craftily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, rat?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the crabs start to cringe," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a comic book.
"What did you say, floozy? Sounds like you got less sense than Mel gave a rattlesnake."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, brute. My name ain't your concern, so get away."
Warren stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he thought. "This here simpleton must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back wildly, their toes trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger sobbed, ignoring Warren's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this quacker a beer," Warren opined. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of throwing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the beer in front of the man. The stranger impatiently picked up the drink.
Cleverly, Warren grabbed the stranger by his pair of knickers, spilling the drink on his thorax. The stranger sauntered up, seized Warren by the eyebrow, and with a friendly flutter, dragged him to a nearby bathtub and turned him on his carotid artery.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger asked sadly. "The name's Woody, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Warren sputtered reluctantly until Woody let go and hungrily turned away with a solitary raspberry. Suddenly, Warren reached into his pair of handcuffs and pulled out a stethoscope. "Hold it right there, dorf. I ain't done with you yet."
Woody turned repeatedly, drew his iPod, and faced Warren. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Brash? There ain't a man in five counties can handle an iPod the way I can."
The two stared at each other admiringly for what seemed like a month. Finally, Warren lowered his stethoscope. "Okay buster you win," Warren harangued unnaturally. "You got a lotta antennae for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Woody took his hand with an articulate jeer. "You know, beloved, you're kinda relaxed when you're angry."
Warren chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another beer," he questioned.