A cowboy who just moved to Wyoming from Texas walks into a bar and orders three mugs of Bud. He takes them to a table in the back and drinks a sip from each one in turn. When he finishes, he returns to the bar and orders three more. Curious, the bartender approaches. “You know,” he says, “a mug goes flat after I pour it. It would taste better if you bought them one at a time.”

The cowboy explains, “I’ve got two brothers—one’s an Airborne Ranger, the other’s a Navy SEAL. They’re both serving overseas. When we all left Texas, we promised we’d drink this way to remember the times we had together. So I drink one beer for each of my brothers, and one for myself.”

The bartender nods, touched by the tradition. The cowboy becomes a regular, always drinking the same way—three mugs, one sip at a time. But one day, he walks in and orders only two mugs. The bar grows silent as everyone notices. When he returns for a second round, the bartender gently says:

“I’m sorry for your loss. Please accept my condolences.”
The cowboy looks confused, then laughs. “Oh no, everyone’s fine. It’s just that my wife and I joined the Baptist Church… and I had to quit drinking.”
He lifts a mug and adds, “Hasn’t affected my brothers, though.”