Jake was dying. His wife, Joanie, was maintaining a candlelight vigil by his side. She held his fragile hand, tears running down her face.
Her praying roused him from his slumber. He looked up and his pale lips began to move slightly. "My darling Joanie," he whispered.
"Hush, my love," she said. "Rest. Shhh. . . don't talk."
In his tired voice, "I have something I must confess to you."
"There's nothing to confess," replied the weeping Joanie. "Everything's all right, just go to sleep."
"No, no. I must die in peace, Joanie. I...I cheated on you!"
"I know," Joanie whispered as she softly stroked his forehead. "Shhhh. . just let the poison work. . . . ."
Brenda O'Malley is home making dinner, as usual, when Tim
Finnegan arrives at her door.
"Brenda, may I come in?" he asks. "I've somethin'to tell ya."
"Of course you can come in, you're always welcome, Tim.
But where's my husband?"
"That's what I'm here to be telling ya, Brenda.
"There was an accident down at the Guinness brewery..."
"Oh, God no!" cries Brenda. "Please don't tell me.."
"I must, Brenda. Your husband Shamus is dead and gone. I'm sorry."
Finally, she looked up at Tim. "How did it happen, Tim?"
"It was terrible, Brenda. He fell into a vat of Guinness Stout and drowned."
"Oh my dear Jesus! But you must tell me true, Tim.
"Did he at least go quickly?"
"Well, no Brenda... no. Fact is, he got out three times to pee."