I knew a guy who loved to tell blatantly racist jokes. We’ll call him “Mr. Name Withheld” because it’s possible he still walks among us. In addition to his other charms, Mr. Name Withheld also had no concept of personal space. He would grab my arm and literally pull me so close I could count the bumper crop of hairs growing out of his enormous tomato nose. Then he’d go into his act: “Two blacks walk into the welfare office ...”