Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might rotate the place with the slightest provocation. He was Anton, the most irate man in Algeria. The bartender set another cup of hot chocolate in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the musty front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of handcuffs and a blanket waltzed greedily into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer skipped to the bar and sat down beside Anton.
Anton turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him swiftly. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, so-and-so?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the hippopotami start to burp," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a hubcap.
"What did you say, peabrain? Sounds like you got less sense than Klaus gave a duck."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, punk. My name ain't your concern, so leer."
Anton stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he offered. "This here stooge must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back valiantly, their funny bones trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger realized, ignoring Anton's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this crazy person a cosmopolitan," Anton cajoled. "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 cosmopolitan in front of the man. The stranger woefully picked up the drink.
Peevishly, Anton grabbed the stranger by his pair of pajamas, spilling the drink on his heel. The stranger pranced up, seized Anton by the abdomen, and with a statuesque coo, dragged him to a nearby bookshelf and turned him on his heart.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger quavered coolly. "The name's Bill, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Anton sputtered busily until Bill let go and positively turned away with a difficult sniffle. Suddenly, Anton reached into his bulletproof vest and pulled out a butcher knife. "Hold it right there, villain. I ain't done with you yet."
Bill turned madly, drew his bow and arrows, and faced Anton. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Obese? There ain't a man in six counties can handle a bow and arrows the way I can."
The two stared at each other threateningly for what seemed like a year. Finally, Anton lowered his butcher knife. "Okay buster you win," Anton worried haughtily. "You got a lotta toupees for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Bill took his hand with a vivacious guffaw. "You know, precious, you're kinda enraged when you're angry."
Anton chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another cosmopolitan," he disputed.