Sean was lyin' on his deathbed with his lifelong friend by his side.

"Paddy, me dear friend, ye remember that grand case o' scotch we won at poker when we were in the merchant marine these many years ago?"

"Aye, Sean, that I do. Some thirty years ago it was."

"Well, laddie, I never told ye, but I set one bottle aside, and I've kept it even to this day."

"Ah, Sean, heart of me heart, 'tis a fine thing ye've done!" Paddy's mouth was watering at the thought of having a last drink with his bosom buddy, a shot of magnificently aged whisky.

With great difficulty, Sean raised himself up on one elbow, reached out and clutched Paddy by the lapel of his jacket and looked him straight in the eye. "Paddy, me own, would ye do me one last, dyin' favour, in the name of our true and lastin' friendship?"

Paddy returned his gaze with genuine affection. "Anything, Sean, ye know ye can count on me."

Sean relaxed and fell back into his bed. "When they lay me out in that pine box and they lower me down into the ground and they cover me over with sod, Paddy, me boy, will ye take that fine bottle of scotch and pull the cork, and pour the whisky all over me grave?"

(pause as Paddy swallows)

"Aye, Sean, that I will ... But would ye mind if it passes through me kidneys first?"


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