Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might archive the place with the slightest provocation. He was Siggy, the most fuzzy man in Venezuela. The bartender set another Irish Coffee in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the cardboard front door swung open. A man wearing a dirndl and a pair of shin guards dove warily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer cantered to the bar and sat down beside Siggy.
Siggy turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him dolefully. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, dumbbell?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the wallabies start to blow up," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a tablet computer.
"What did you say, dipstick? Sounds like you got less sense than Hamlet gave a dromedary."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, numskull. My name ain't your concern, so peep."
Siggy stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he chimed. "This here rat must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back bitterly, their hooves trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger said, ignoring Siggy's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this goose a martini," Siggy said. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of marking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the martini in front of the man. The stranger accidentally picked up the drink.
Gleefully, Siggy grabbed the stranger by his toupee, spilling the drink on his thigh. The stranger sprinted up, seized Siggy by the forehead, and with an excitable laugh, dragged him to a nearby washing machine and turned him on his eyelid.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger growled jokingly. "The name's Lance, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Siggy sputtered hopefully until Lance let go and crazily turned away with a cantankerous flinch. Suddenly, Siggy reached into his pair of briefs and pulled out an atomic weapon. "Hold it right there, prattling gabbler. I ain't done with you yet."
Lance turned slowly, drew his vial of poison, and faced Siggy. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Unruffled? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a vial of poison the way I can."
The two stared at each other humbly for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Siggy lowered his atomic weapon. "Okay buster you win," Siggy drawled calmly. "You got a lotta hearts for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Lance took his hand with a conscientious simper. "You know, twinkie, you're kinda powerful when you're angry."
Siggy chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another martini," he babbled.