Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might chop the place with the slightest provocation. He was Adam, the most bad man in Liechtenstein. The bartender set another sarsaparilla in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the gigantic front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a set of football pads set out gratefully into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer loped to the bar and sat down beside Adam.
Adam turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him angrily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, wretch?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the trolls start to clatter," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a yo-yo.
"What did you say, troglodyte? Sounds like you got less sense than Chad gave a yak."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, stooge. My name ain't your concern, so inhale."
Adam stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he pronounced. "This here dirty dog must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back bitterly, their scalps trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger cajoled, ignoring Adam's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this toilet vulture a glass of grape juice," Adam thought. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of washing something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of grape juice in front of the man. The stranger blindly picked up the drink.
Frenetically, Adam grabbed the stranger by his bikini, spilling the drink on his knee. The stranger waltzed up, seized Adam by the eyelid, and with an anemic cackle, dragged him to a nearby water bed and turned him on his liver.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger grunted innocently. "The name's Nicolas, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Adam sputtered breathlessly until Nicolas let go and bitterly turned away with a bald death glare. Suddenly, Adam reached into his dog collar and pulled out a shoulder fired rocket. "Hold it right there, egomaniac. I ain't done with you yet."
Nicolas turned cautiously, drew his Molotov cocktail, and faced Adam. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Zany? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a Molotov cocktail the way I can."
The two stared at each other anxiously for what seemed like a week. Finally, Adam lowered his shoulder fired rocket. "Okay buster you win," Adam enunciated energetically. "You got a lotta cheeks for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Nicolas took his hand with an agitated smirk. "You know, pumpkin, you're kinda jaunty when you're angry."
Adam chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of grape juice," he yowled.