george68hemirr
I think you guys are full of shit.
>
> An elderly Scotsman lay dying in his bed.
>
>
>
> While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly
> smelled
> the aroma of his favourite biscuits wafting up the stairs. He
> gathered his
> remaining strength, and lifted himself from the bed.
>
>
>
> Leaning on the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom,
> and
> with even greater effort, gripping the railing with both hands, he
> crawled downstairs. With laboured breath, he leaned against the
> door-frame, 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 literally hundreds of his favourite biscuits, freshly baked.
>
>
>
> Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of love from his devoted
> Scottish 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 crumpled posture. His aged and withered
> hand trembled towards a biscuit at the edge of the table, when it
> was
> suddenly smacked by his wife with a spatula.............
>
>
>
>
>
> "Fuck off" she said, "they're for the funeral."
> An elderly Scotsman lay dying in his bed.
>
>
>
> While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly
> smelled
> the aroma of his favourite biscuits wafting up the stairs. He
> gathered his
> remaining strength, and lifted himself from the bed.
>
>
>
> Leaning on the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom,
> and
> with even greater effort, gripping the railing with both hands, he
> crawled downstairs. With laboured breath, he leaned against the
> door-frame, 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 literally hundreds of his favourite biscuits, freshly baked.
>
>
>
> Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of love from his devoted
> Scottish 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 crumpled posture. His aged and withered
> hand trembled towards a biscuit at the edge of the table, when it
> was
> suddenly smacked by his wife with a spatula.............
>
>
>
>
>
> "Fuck off" she said, "they're for the funeral."
