By happenstance, three men entered the local tavern in quick succession. Father McMannus, Rabbi Pewterman, and Shaquawn Johnson the local basketball coach noted one another with apprehensive cordiality. Each man sat at the bar, each as stiff and uncomfortable as the next. Hans the bartender hesitated in asked what they might like.
“Look,” the rabbi began, “We’re all thinking it. If we just remain calm, do our usual thing, this will all just blow over.”
“I don’t know, man,” the coach answered, his voice quavering, “There’s a joke in all this somewhere. It’s gotta’ come out.”
“What joke?” the priest challenged, “Some silly thing based on outdated stereotypes? Nonsense.”
“I’m telling you,” the coach persisted, “it’s gonna happen.”
“You’re upset. He’s upset. I could just go,” Rabbi Pewterman offered. No answer met this option as the door to the establishment creaked open. The three men froze. They knew the implications. One more stereotype, and they were all done for.
Sadly, Pierre sauntered in.