A man gets a job in a pub in a tiny village in the nack of nowhere in Ireland. On his first night there an old farmer comes in and asks for 3 pints of Guinness. The barman pulls the pints and watches him drink them slowly, one after the other. When he finishes he asks for another 3 pints. This goes on all night until the barman finally says "You know, you'd be better off getting one at a time so they stay fresh". The old farmer replies "Shur I know that. But I have a brother in New York and another in New Zealand and they both do the same thing. We used always come in jere together of a Friday, so we keep up the tradition". The barman, touched, happily agrees to keep up the tradition with him.
So it goes until one day, many months later, the old farmer orders only 2 pints. The barman is shocked. He wonders which of the brothers dies but doesn't want to put him on the spot in front of everyone. At the end of the night, with everyone else gone home, the barman finally says "I'm sorry for your loss. Which one of your brothers has passed on", and the old man replies "It's not that, at all. Shur I'm off the drink".
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