An Irishman walks into a pub in Galway.

“Bartender,” he says, “pour a whiskey and a pint for me. And pour a whiskey and a pint for my brother in America.” And so it goes, every round, night after night, for years.

One evening, he walks into the pub. “The usual, Sean?” the bartender asks?

“Not tonight,” the Irishman says glumly. “I’ll just have a whiskey and a pint.”

Now the bartender is a sensitive man. He knows what this means. The Irishman’s brother has passed on. “Oh, Sean,” he says, “I am so sorry about your brother in America.”

“My brother?” the Irishman says. “Oh, no, no, my brother’s getting on quite well in America. He’s doing just fine. You see, it’s just that I have quit drinking.”