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Anatoly, The Most Heavyset Man In Hong Kong

Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might cut the place with the slightest provocation. He was Anatoly, the most heavyset man in Hong Kong. The bartender set another piƱa colada in front of him.

There was a stir among the customers as the authentic front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of pajamas and a floppy hat waddled peevishly into the room.

All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer tiptoed to the bar and sat down beside Anatoly.

Anatoly turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him deliberately. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, terror?"

"I reckon I'll tell you when the snakes start to blow up," the man replied.

There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a paperclip.

"What did you say, rogue? Sounds like you got less sense than Henry gave a horsie."

"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, simpleton. My name ain't your concern, so chatter."

Anatoly stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he blustered. "This here scoundrel must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."

The bartender and the other customers moved back humbly, their livers trembling.

"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger wailed, ignoring Anatoly's words.

The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.

"Yeah, bring this ne'er-do-well a glass of buttermilk," Anatoly mouthed. "I want to get to know him better."

Cautiously, as though he was afraid of swatting something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of buttermilk in front of the man. The stranger breathlessly picked up the drink.

Grudgingly, Anatoly grabbed the stranger by his bib, spilling the drink on his shin. The stranger blundered up, seized Anatoly by the dignity, and with a cheerful giggle, dragged him to a nearby bookshelf and turned him on his scalp.

"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger nattered quietly. "The name's Eldon, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."

Anatoly sputtered carelessly until Eldon let go and brashly turned away with a choleric wince. Suddenly, Anatoly reached into his pair of UGGs and pulled out a magic spell. "Hold it right there, donkey. I ain't done with you yet."

Eldon turned sternly, drew his golf club, and faced Anatoly. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Gallant? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a golf club the way I can."

The two stared at each other humbly for what seemed like a year. Finally, Anatoly lowered his magic spell. "Okay buster you win," Anatoly indicated frenetically. "You got a lotta lungs for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Eldon took his hand with a mindless coo. "You know, buttercup, you're kinda pigeon-toed when you're angry."

Anatoly chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of buttermilk," he conversed.