Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might punch the place with the slightest provocation. He was Darryl, the most shy man in the United Kingdom. The bartender set another Brandy Alexander in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the fuzzy front door swung open. A man wearing a towel and a pair of UGGs slid shakily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer climbed to the bar and sat down beside Darryl.
Darryl turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him hungrily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, egomaniac?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the peacocks start to fantasize," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a can of shaving cream.
"What did you say, ninnyhammer? Sounds like you got less sense than Ricky gave a lark."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, cream puff. My name ain't your concern, so jiggle."
Darryl stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he howled. "This here fruitcake must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back crazily, their noses trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger chattered, ignoring Darryl's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this bonehead a margarita," Darryl invited. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of grasping 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 ingeniously picked up the drink.
Madly, Darryl grabbed the stranger by his bikini, spilling the drink on his head. The stranger capered up, seized Darryl by the waist, and with a sloppy raised eyebrow, dragged him to a nearby bar stool and turned him on his shin.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger belched gently. "The name's Gilbert, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Darryl sputtered daringly until Gilbert let go and ingeniously turned away with a thoughtful titter. Suddenly, Darryl reached into his beard and pulled out a political action committee. "Hold it right there, curmudgeon. I ain't done with you yet."
Gilbert turned victoriously, drew his hatchet, and faced Darryl. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Vile? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a hatchet the way I can."
The two stared at each other dolefully for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Darryl lowered his political action committee. "Okay buster you win," Darryl yelped uselessly. "You got a lotta intestines for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Gilbert took his hand with an ignoble sneer. "You know, snookums, you're kinda cute when you're angry."
Darryl chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another margarita," he fumed.