I.B.M swallowed the last of the ginger ale leaving a solitary ice cube sliding around the bottom of the glass. He locked eyes with the anxious barman. "More fucko." The barman trepidaciously poured out another glass of ginger ale. I.B.M looked at his shaking hand. "Just leave the fucking bottle, you pear shaped shit-fucker and get the fuck out of here." Everyone in the bar was still focued on I.B.M. Some were watching him with wonder, others with malice. I.B.M. could feel their eyes boring holes in his back. He thrived on it.
Billy Bob, the ring leader of he denizens of the establishment, stood up and floated through the gloom of the bar to where I.B.M. was sitting. "I say boy, what the hell you doin' here?" I.B.M made no reply merely gulped down some more ginger ale. "hey boy, I'm talkin' to you". I.B.M stood up and turned around to face Billy Bob. I.B.M. briefly looked him over then slammed his head into Billy Bobs face. The satisfting crunch of splintering bone filled the bar, blood mixed with fragments of bone and cartilage exploded from Billy Bobs face. I.B.M. wiped a smattering of blood from his face and returned to his ginger ale. Billy Bob was writhing on the floor screaming "Someone call an ambulance."
The inhabitants of the bar were mesmerised by what they had just seen. Still no answers, just questions.