Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might archive the place with the slightest provocation. He was Jughead, the most desperate man in Casablanca. The bartender set another glass of fruit punch in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the hard front door swung open. A man wearing a beach towel and a space suit sped joyously into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sneaked to the bar and sat down beside Jughead.
Jughead turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him sweetly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, crazy person?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the ravens start to laugh," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an ice cream cone.
"What did you say, hoodlum? Sounds like you got less sense than Zachary gave a sasquatch."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, reptile. My name ain't your concern, so pray."
Jughead stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he guessed. "This here drunken royster must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back gracefully, their gall bladders trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger wailed, ignoring Jughead's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this witch a chocolate milk," Jughead articulated. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of hitting something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the chocolate milk in front of the man. The stranger sternly picked up the drink.
Stupidly, Jughead grabbed the stranger by his pair of toe shoes, spilling the drink on his chest. The stranger traipsed up, seized Jughead by the thigh, and with an adorable air kiss, dragged him to a nearby china cabinet and turned him on his heel.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger jeered bitterly. "The name's Lucky, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Jughead sputtered sharply until Lucky let go and neatly turned away with a yappy sniff. Suddenly, Jughead reached into his tam o'shanter and pulled out a hammer. "Hold it right there, prattling gabbler. I ain't done with you yet."
Lucky turned mysteriously, drew his tomahawk, and faced Jughead. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Suave? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a tomahawk the way I can."
The two stared at each other shyly for what seemed like a month. Finally, Jughead lowered his hammer. "Okay buster you win," Jughead emphasized fiercely. "You got a lotta jaws for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Lucky took his hand with a wily smirk. "You know, honey-bunny, you're kinda shy when you're angry."
Jughead chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another chocolate milk," he lectured.