Murphy’s doctor sighed and gave him the bad news. You have incurable cancer. I give you maybe a month to live.” Murphy was shocked and saddened, but managed to compose himself and headed for the pub. There he found his son. Murphy said, “Son, we Irish celebrate when things are good and we celebrate when things are bad. In my case, things are bad. I have cancer and have but a short time to live. Let’s have a few pints.” After a few, they were approached by some of Murphy’s old friends. “Why the celebration?” Murphy said, “My friends, we Irish celebrate when things are good and we celebrate when things are bad. In my case, things are bad. I’m dying from AIDS.” They gave Murphy their condolences and had some more beers together. After his friends left, Murphy’s son leaned over and whispered his confusion. “Dad, I thought you said that you were dying from cancer? What’s this about AIDS?” Murphy said, “I am dying from cancer, son. But after I’m gone, I don’t want any of them bums sleepin’ with your mother!”