An Irishman named Patty Murphy went to Dr. O' Conner after a long illness. The doctor, after a thorough examination, sighed and looked Murphy in the eye and said, "I've some bad news for you. You have cancer and it can't be cured. You have less than a month to live. You best be preparing for what lies before you."

Murphy, shocked and saddened by the news, but of solid character, managed to compose himself and walk from the doctor's office into the waiting room. There he saw his son, who had been waiting.

Murphy said, "Son, we Irish celebrate when things are good and we celebrate when things don't go so well. In this case, things aren't so well. I have cancer and I've been given a short time to live. Let's be off to the pub and have a few pints."

After three or four pints, the two were feeling a little less somber. There were some laughs and more beers. They were eventually approached by some of Murphy's old friends who asked what the two were celebrating. Murphy told them how the Irish celebrate both the good and the bad. He went on to tell them that they were drinking to his impending end.

He told his friends: "I've only got a few weeks to live as I have been diagnosed with AIDS."

The friends, quite shocked, gave Murphy their condolences and they had a couple more beers.

After his friends left, Murphy's son leaned over and whispered his confusion. "Dad, I thought you said that you were dying from cancer?

Murphy nodded, "Yes, my son, I am dying from cancer."

"Then," asked the son, "how come you just told your friends that you were dying from AIDS?"

Murphy smiled, "It's just that I don't want any of my friends sleeping with your mother after I'm gone."