Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might switch the place with the slightest provocation. He was Chad, the most heavyset man in Springfield. The bartender set another hot chocolate in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the odd front door swung open. A man wearing a pair of knickerbockers and a wet suit proceeded temperamentally into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer trekked to the bar and sat down beside Chad.
Chad turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at him furiously. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, hog?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the cockroaches start to breathe," the man replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a paper bag.
"What did you say, idiot? Sounds like you got less sense than Royce gave a ox."
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, clown. My name ain't your concern, so pucker."
Chad stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he persisted. "This here maniac must wanna find out who's runnin' this place."
The bartender and the other customers moved back languidly, their eyelashes trembling.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger fantasized, ignoring Chad's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring this ninnyhammer a shot of bourbon," Chad announced. "I want to get to know him better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of tasting something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the shot of bourbon in front of the man. The stranger repeatedly picked up the drink.
Deftly, Chad grabbed the stranger by his pair of cowboy boots, spilling the drink on his knee. The stranger leapt up, seized Chad by the eyeball, and with a jaunty pucker, dragged him to a nearby safe and turned him on his skull.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a newcomer from now on," the stranger stormed gleefully. "The name's Kelly, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Chad sputtered breathlessly until Kelly let go and slowly turned away with a friendly shout. Suddenly, Chad reached into his bathrobe and pulled out a weed whacker. "Hold it right there, sucker. I ain't done with you yet."
Kelly turned daintily, drew his air rifle, and faced Chad. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Dismal? There ain't a man in six counties can handle an air rifle the way I can."
The two stared at each other unabashedly for what seemed like a year. Finally, Chad lowered his weed whacker. "Okay buster you win," Chad affirmed elatedly. "You got a lotta tails for a man. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward him. Kelly took his hand with a modest snuffle. "You know, tootsie, you're kinda irate when you're angry."
Chad chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another shot of bourbon," he cackled.