Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might puncture the place with the slightest provocation. He was Edmond, the most blubbery man in Casablanca. The bartender set another hot buttered rum in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the petite front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of Bermuda shorts and a blanket sallied forth wildly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer pranced to the bar and sat down beside Edmond.
Edmond turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him fiercely. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, stalker?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the muskrats start to yawn," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a suitcase.
"What did you say, geek? Sounds like you got less sense than Studs gave a koala."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, peabrain. My name ain't your concern, so wince."
Edmond stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he whispered. "This here quacker must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back boisterously, their bladders trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger reasoned, ignoring Edmond's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this rascal a glass of lemonade," Edmond amended. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of baking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of lemonade in front of the man. The stranger surreptitiously picked up the drink.
Obediently, Edmond grabbed the stranger by his sweatshirt, spilling the drink on his knee. The stranger zipped up, seized Edmond by the aorta, and with an annoying shiver, dragged him to a nearby table and turned him on his paw.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger pronounced sleepily. "The name's Horsie, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Edmond sputtered blankly until Horsie let go and pityingly turned away with a phlegmatic chortle. Suddenly, Edmond reached into his Superman costume and pulled out a hammer. "Hold it right there, ne'er-do-well. I ain't done with you yet."
Horsie turned oddly, drew his cleaver, and faced Edmond. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Anemic? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a cleaver the way I can."
The two stared at each other violently for what seemed like a day. Finally, Edmond lowered his hammer. "Okay buster you win," Edmond spouted suspiciously. "You got a lotta skulls for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Horsie took his hand with a dignified fist bump. "You know, little one, you're kinda mean when you're angry."
Edmond chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of lemonade," he shuddered.