Three men of principle get lost in the Amazon.

A priest, an Irishman, and a New Yorker are on a trip down the Amazon in a canoe rented from a shady fella in the northern part of the country. A storm blows and forces them down a tributary they had not planned on and they find themselves washed ashore in the territory of a very secretive tribe.
The chieftan comes down to the shore and regretfully informs the trio that, having seen what comes to tribes that allow the outside world to know of their existence, the trio must die. However because the tribe subscribes to the waste not want not philosophy, the chieftan tells the trio that their deaths will not be in vain. Their bodies will be used. The meat will feed the tribe and their skin will line the canoes so the tribe may fish.

The chieftan asks which of the trio is willing to go first and because he's not an ass he is willing to grant them all a final wish, and to decide on the order of the it demise.

The priest offers to go first and requests a moment of prayer before he is killed. The chieftan obliges and the priest goes off to say a rosary. When he returns he is killed, skinned, put in a stew and the tribe's tanners set to work on prepping his skin for lining the canoes.

The Irishman is next and asks for a pint of their strongest liquor. The chief obliges and the Irishman meets the same fate as the priest.

Finally the New Yorker is up and he asks for a fork. Confused, the chieftan asks the New Yorker what a fork is since the tribe has no idea what a fork is. The New Yorker draws a fork in the sand and the chieftan instructs his men to make the man a fork. All are very confused.

When the fork is completed the chieftan hands the New Yorker the fork and asks why the man wants that for, of all things, his last request on this earth.

The New Yorker smiles, grasps the fork by the handles and aims the tines toward his chest and violently stabs him self over and over again in the chest shouting, "This is what I think of your fucking canoe!"