Today's alliterative trio comes courtesy of El Julio:
A barista, a barrister, and a barbarian walk into a bar. Barrett, the barrel-chested barbarian (he lifts barbells daily, barring conflict), barks a barrage of orders at the barkeep for mugs of barley and hops.
Barbara, the barista with the barbed wire tattoo and barrettes, barters with him to go half & half on some barbecue wings.
"Where's the baritone?" asks Barrett. "Without Barney, our barbershop quartet won't be complete for the bash at the club. They may cut our act. Though I suppose we could replace him with a bassoon."1
"You know," says Barbara, "someday I'd like to take a barge to the Great Barrier Reef, perhaps stopping at Barcelona and the Barbary Coast. Just imagine! There could be barracuda and barnacles and Barbarossa and—"
"What does that have to do with anything? Besides, you were raised in a barn. A trip like that might turn out to be more than you bargained for."
"You're always putting up barricades and barriers to my happiness."
"Am not. Say, Bartleby..." Barrett turns to the barrister. "You've been awfully quiet today, but you're always a good barometer for these sorts of arguments. What do you think?"
"I'm not Bartleby." The barrister removes his moustache. "Bartleby is dead."
"Guilty as charged. You should have figured it out when I came in here, though. A barrister is basically a British lawyer, and a lawyer would have passed the bar. Or, whatever its English equivalent is."
"I think it's called a pub."
Two more to go. Next up's a goat.
1 There you go, Lisa. I have no idea why you wanted a bassoon in there, but it's in there.