Pat was lying on his deathbed, moaning and carrying on.
"Mike," he says, "I know I'm a goner."
"Oh, Paddy, have faith, ye still have years ahead uv yuh."
"No, Mick, I'm finished, an' you've been such a great friend; there's one thing I'd like yuh to do when I'm gone."
"Ahh, Paddy, I'll do anything you ask, I swear it to the Saints and the Holy Mother."
"Well, Dear Friend, I have been saving a jug of fine whiskey that my brother sent me from Cashel some eight years ago, and I would like you to pour it on me grave when I'm buried."
Mike sits silently for a long time and Pat asks again, "Will you do that for yer oldest friend, Mike?"
Mike draws a big breath and says, "Ye know I will Pat, but would ye mind if I filter it through me kidneys first?"