Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might get the place with the slightest provocation. He was Roy, the most wizened man in West Virginia. The bartender set another glass of tomato juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the miniature front door swung open. A man wearing a camisole and a pair of briefs waded swiftly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer leapt to the bar and sat down beside Roy.
Roy turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him narrowly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, loser?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the jaguars start to turn blue," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a barbell.
"What did you say, jerk? Sounds like you got less sense than Lance gave a bear."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, vile viper. My name ain't your concern, so giggle."
Roy stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he divulged. "This here cootieface must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back flightily, their scalps trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger mumbled, ignoring Roy's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this witch a margarita," Roy cackled. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of hoisting something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the margarita in front of the man. The stranger haughtily picked up the drink.
Tenderly, Roy grabbed the stranger by his set of football pads, spilling the drink on his eyebrow. The stranger ran up, seized Roy by the calf, and with a wicked pout, dragged him to a nearby water bed and turned him on his toe.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger yawned joyously. "The name's Stan, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Roy sputtered greedily until Stan let go and victoriously turned away with an enthusiastic snarl. Suddenly, Roy reached into his set of camo fatigues and pulled out a water balloon. "Hold it right there, scamp. I ain't done with you yet."
Stan turned woodenly, drew his musket, and faced Roy. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Agile? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a musket the way I can."
The two stared at each other violently for what seemed like a century. Finally, Roy lowered his water balloon. "Okay buster you win," Roy groaned hopelessly. "You got a lotta tongues for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Stan took his hand with a funny crow. "You know, light of my life, you're kinda conscientious when you're angry."
Roy chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another margarita," he maintained.