My old mate Fergus Mccarthy walks into a bar in Dublin, orders three pints of Guinness and sits in the back of the room, drinking a sip out of each one in turn. When he finishes them, he comes back to the bar and orders three more.
The bartender approaches and tells him, "You know, a pint goes flat after I draw it; it would taste better if you bought one at a time."
Fergus replies, "Well, you see, I have two brothers. One is in America, the other in Australia, and I'm here in Dublin. When we all left home, we promised that we'd drink this way to remember the days when we drank together. So I drinks one for each o' me brothers and one for me self."
The bartender admits that this is a nice custom, and leaves it there. Fergus becomes a regular in the bar, and always drinks the same way: He orders three pints and drinks them in turn.
One day, he comes in and orders two pints. All the other regulars take notice and fall silent. When he comes back to the bar for the second round, the bartender says, "I don't want to intrude on your grief, but I wanted to offer my condolences on your great loss."
Fergus looks quite puzzled for a moment, then a light dawns in his eye and he laughs. "Oh, no, everybody's just fine," He explains, "It's just that me wife had us join that Baptist Church and I had to quit drinking. 'Hasn't affected me brothers a bit though