Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might fry the place with the slightest provocation. He was Randy, the most cruel man in Mali. The bartender set another cup of hot chocolate in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the bulky front door swung open. A man wearing a nightgown and a hearing aid marched sympathetically into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer sneaked to the bar and sat down beside Randy.
Randy turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him sharply. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, weenie?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the fawns start to glower," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a baby doll.
"What did you say, ding dong? Sounds like you got less sense than Dick gave a goblin."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, dweeb. My name ain't your concern, so expectorate."
Randy stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he observed. "This here crazy person must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back neatly, their bellies trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger ranted, ignoring Randy's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this moonie a hot chocolate," Randy wondered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of considering something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the hot chocolate in front of the man. The stranger gingerly picked up the drink.
Daringly, Randy grabbed the stranger by his beret, spilling the drink on his piehole. The stranger staggered up, seized Randy by the shoulder, and with a clever smile, dragged him to a nearby dining table and turned him on his hangnail.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger debated pityingly. "The name's Brandon, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Randy sputtered furiously until Brandon let go and sadly turned away with an ungainly smack. Suddenly, Randy reached into his jumpsuit and pulled out a Taser. "Hold it right there, lout. I ain't done with you yet."
Brandon turned blissfully, drew his political action committee, and faced Randy. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Bad? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a political action committee the way I can."
The two stared at each other testily for what seemed like a year. Finally, Randy lowered his Taser. "Okay buster you win," Randy tittered victoriously. "You got a lotta wrists for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Brandon took his hand with a sleepy grunt. "You know, honey-babe, you're kinda repulsive when you're angry."
Randy chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another hot chocolate," he began.