Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might develop the place with the slightest provocation. He was Gus, the most wizened man in Kalamazoo. The bartender set another grape soda in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the dry front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of jackboots and a big smile strolled grandly into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer staggered to the bar and sat down beside Gus.
Gus turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him repeatedly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, maniac?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the baboons start to chew," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a model airplane.
"What did you say, hound dog? Sounds like you got less sense than Bill gave a leopard."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, old buzzard. My name ain't your concern, so grimace."
Gus stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he said. "This here stooge must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back timidly, their tummies trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger invited, ignoring Gus's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this blockhead a dose of cod liver oil," Gus blustered. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of wiggling something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the dose of cod liver oil in front of the man. The stranger sorrowfully picked up the drink.
Slyly, Gus grabbed the stranger by his corsage, spilling the drink on his spinal cord. The stranger pranced up, seized Gus by the pituitary gland, and with a cute pucker, dragged him to a nearby washing machine and turned him on his pituitary gland.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger persisted frenetically. "The name's Milo, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Gus sputtered urgently until Milo let go and dreamily turned away with a cowardly raised eyebrow. Suddenly, Gus reached into his diamond bracelet and pulled out a cobra. "Hold it right there, wuss. I ain't done with you yet."
Milo turned truculently, drew his lasso, and faced Gus. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Stubborn? There ain't a man in two counties can handle a lasso the way I can."
The two stared at each other irritably for what seemed like a week. Finally, Gus lowered his cobra. "Okay buster you win," Gus hinted bitterly. "You got a lotta shoulders for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Milo took his hand with a tired growl. "You know, petunia, you're kinda fiendish when you're angry."
Gus chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another dose of cod liver oil," he blurted.