Dont have to be Irish but I just wanted to rib Junkster again :p
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An elderly Irishman lay dying in his bed.
While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the
aroma of his favourite cheese scones wafting up the stairs.
He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted himself from the bed.
Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, and with
even greater effort, gripping the railingwith both hands, he crawled
downstairs.
With laboured breath, he leaned against the doorframe, gazing into the
kitchen.Were it not for death's agony, he would have thought himself
already in heaven, for there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen
table were dozens of his favourite cheese scones. Was it heaven? Or was
it one final act of heroic love from his devoted Irish wife of sixty years,
seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?
Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself towards the table,
landing on his knees in a rumpled posture. His parched lips parted, he
could almost taste the cheese scone before it was in his mouth,
seemingly bringing him back to life.
The aged and withered hand trembled on its way to the nearest scone at
the edge of the table, when his hand was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his
wife . . . . . . .
"F*ck Off!! ",she said, "They're for the funeral"