My friend and I were on vacation. We'd just arrived after midnight and pulled into a bowling alley in Hayward, Wisconsin. We'd just barely sat down at the bar when an older guy came down and sat next to us. I figured he was going to hit us up for a drink -- but instead, he ordered up a shot of whiskey for himself and determinedly slapped his money down on the counter. He ruefully looked at us and told us that he'd just got out of the hospital for a bleeding ulcer / and that the doctors told him that if he had even just a single drink that it'd kill him. When the bartender sat the drink down in front of him, he carefully picked it up and carefully studied it for a moment. Then he suddenly tipped his head back and quickly downed it.
We didn't know what to think. Then, about thirty seconds later, the tugged on my friend's sleeve and said, "Can you give me a ride to the hospital?" He did. That morning, the alcoholic was soon dead.