Ever since their bachelor days, John, Hamish, and Pat met up each year for a lad's week in Majorca. They are heading back to the hotel after a night's clubbing in Magaluf, when they notice something white in the ditch along the side of the road. Patrick takes a closer look and exclaims,
"Be gora, it's a cassock and Mother of Mary, it's the Pope."
It seems that the Pope has had a few too many, tripped, and drowned.
The lads are not sure what to do but in the end, they phone the Vatican.
Upon hearing the news, the Pope's secretary is distraught, but he soon gains his composure and says:
"We can't let this get out: it will cause a scandal. You must swear not to say a word about this. I will arrange to have the Pope's body secretly flown back here and we will announce in a couple of days that he simply passed away in his sleep."
They agree and after waiting until the body has been recovered, they return to the hotel.
Next morning at breakfast, Hamish says,
"I've been thinking: if the Pope's death isn't going to be announced for a couple of days we can put a bet on at the bookies that the Pope will die. It's a sure thing and we will make a fortune!"
With that, they quickly pack and catch the next flight home.
A year later, they all meet up at the same hotel. Hamish says,
"I did well with that bet: re mortgaged the house, took out a massive bank-loan, sold the car, and bet the lot on the Pope dying; got odds of a hundred to one; made an absolute fortune. How about you John?"
"Yeah, same here. I'm a millionaire now. How did you do Pat?"
"Don't mention that bloody bet to me. I lost everything: house, car, TV, and the missus has left me too. I'm in the poor house now."
Surprised, John says,
"How could you possibly lose?"
"The odds were much better, so I put it all on a double with the Pope and the Archbishop of Canterbury."