....who is lying in his deathbed. The end is very near when he smells his wife's delicious chocolate chip cookies cooling in the kitchen! Determined that, if he is to die, he is going to die with the taste of his wife's chocolate chip cookies in his mouth.
He pulls himself out of bed and falls to the floor. In unbearable pain, he crawls inch by inch out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. He sees the cookies cooling on the counter.
With every last length of strength, he pulls himself up to the counter. And, with every last bit of strength, grabs hold of one of the cookies. He brings it to his mouth, when his wife enters and wacks his hand with a wooden spoon.
"Hands of those cookies, John Shawnessey!" She cries. "Those are for the funeral!"
He pulls himself out of bed and falls to the floor. In unbearable pain, he crawls inch by inch out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. He sees the cookies cooling on the counter.
With every last length of strength, he pulls himself up to the counter. And, with every last bit of strength, grabs hold of one of the cookies. He brings it to his mouth, when his wife enters and wacks his hand with a wooden spoon.
"Hands of those cookies, John Shawnessey!" She cries. "Those are for the funeral!"
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