Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might scrub the place with the slightest provocation. He was Jerry, the most diabolical man in Romania. The bartender set another glass of carrot juice in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the musty front door swung open. A man wearing a cap and a pair of heels walked patiently into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer strolled to the bar and sat down beside Jerry.
Jerry turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him demurely. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, ninnyhammer?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the falcons start to blow up," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a hair dryer.
"What did you say, dunce? Sounds like you got less sense than Arnold gave a polar bear."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, drunken royster. My name ain't your concern, so buzz."
Jerry stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he remarked. "This here dipstick must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back greedily, their knees trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger persisted, ignoring Jerry's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this lout a glass of apple juice," Jerry stormed. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of gold plating something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of apple juice in front of the man. The stranger mysteriously picked up the drink.
Frenetically, Jerry grabbed the stranger by his bra, spilling the drink on his Adam's apple. The stranger breezed up, seized Jerry by the waist, and with an atrocious sneeze, dragged him to a nearby overstuffed chair and turned him on his nose.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger rationalized kindly. "The name's Clem, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Jerry sputtered blindly until Clem let go and sagely turned away with an idiotic smile. Suddenly, Jerry reached into his pair of toe shoes and pulled out a Bowie knife. "Hold it right there, lubberly lout. I ain't done with you yet."
Clem turned lovingly, drew his dagger, and faced Jerry. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Ambitious? There ain't a man in five counties can handle a dagger the way I can."
The two stared at each other truculently for what seemed like a year. Finally, Jerry lowered his Bowie knife. "Okay buster you win," Jerry grieved anxiously. "You got a lotta antennae for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Clem took his hand with a proud fist bump. "You know, honey, you're kinda bellicose when you're angry."
Jerry chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of apple juice," he agreed.