Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might rattle the place with the slightest provocation. He was Wendell, the most jolly man in Rochester. The bartender set another Mudslide in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the cotton front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of booties and a pair of combat boots rushed coldly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer paraded to the bar and sat down beside Wendell.
Wendell turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him happily. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, pig?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the lemurs start to suffer," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with an ice cream cone.
"What did you say, twerp? Sounds like you got less sense than Arnold gave a flamingo."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, fiend. My name ain't your concern, so get dizzy."
Wendell stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he yelled. "This here lout must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back grimly, their throats trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger stormed, ignoring Wendell's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this wretch an Alka-Seltzer," Wendell moaned. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of nuking something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the Alka-Seltzer in front of the man. The stranger gently picked up the drink.
Urgently, Wendell grabbed the stranger by his tinfoil hat, spilling the drink on his hairdo. The stranger galloped up, seized Wendell by the thyroid gland, and with a sassy caress, dragged him to a nearby coat rack and turned him on his arm.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger yammered timidly. "The name's Drew, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Wendell sputtered irritably until Drew let go and ingeniously turned away with a brave pucker. Suddenly, Wendell reached into his Panama hat and pulled out a rattlesnake. "Hold it right there, madman. I ain't done with you yet."
Drew turned defiantly, drew his hand sanitizer, and faced Wendell. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Athletic? There ain't a man in four counties can handle a hand sanitizer the way I can."
The two stared at each other deliberately for what seemed like a decade. Finally, Wendell lowered his rattlesnake. "Okay buster you win," Wendell analyzed dreamily. "You got a lotta chins for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Drew took his hand with a tall gurgle. "You know, beefcake, you're kinda emotional when you're angry."
Wendell chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another Alka-Seltzer," he sneered.