(A summer repeat from 12/2/2012)

So the guy who was on his deathbed in the previous post called his three best friends together – a priest, a doctor and a lawyer. “My friends,” he said “I’ve decided that I want to take my money with me. I’m giving each of you an envelope containing $300,000 in cash. Just before they close my coffin, I want you to throw in the envelope. I will be happy because I’m taking my money with me.“

The friends solemnly agreed and a short time later the man passed away. At the funeral, each of the friends stepped up and tossed his envelope into the coffin — just as it was being closed. Following the funeral, the three friends gathered to have a drink. After a moment, the priest broke down and tearfully said “I have a confession. I took $50,000 out of the envelope to give to a homeless shelter.” With that, the doctor broke down and sobbed “I have a confession — I took $100,000 to help fund the children’s hospital.”

The lawyer’s eyes narrowed. His stoic face turned to a frown. “I am ashamed of you. Ashamed! Taking money like that. I want you to know that I put my personal check in that envelope for the full $300,000. . . . .”

(A summer repeat from November 29, 2012)

A man lay on his deathbed. Perhaps a few hours to live. His hands were folded on his chest.  And his eyes were closed. Suddenly his nose began to twitch. A familiar smell. He drifted upward out of the deep recess of sleep. That smell he thought. CHOCOLATE. Brownies baking! One eye flickered open. Then the other. And he slowly tilted his head. The smell of chocolate was overpowering. The kitchen was just down the hall.  I need. . . one last brownie. . . .

With great effort, he rolled onto his side and let gravity take its course. He flopped heavily onto the floor. Slowly, laboriously he elbowed his way toward the kitchen. After what seemed like hours, he crossed the threshold of the kitchen.  And there – on the kitchen table – was a plate of warm brownies. He elbowed his way forward and then slowly extended his grasp . . . . fingers . . . . reaching . . . . almost there.

Just then his wife walked in the kitchen – “GEORGE!   You leave those brownies alone! Those are for the funeral!“

A man lay on his deathbed. Perhaps a few hours to live. His hands were crossed on his chest and his eyes were closed. Suddenly his nose began to twitch. A familiar smell. He drifted upward out of the deep recess of sleep. That smell he thought. CHOCOLATE. Brownies baking! An eye flickered open. Then the other. And he slowly tilted his head. The smell of chocolate was overpowering.  The kitchen was just down the hall.  I need. . . one last brownie. . . .

With great effort, he rolled onto his side and let gravity take its course.  He flopped heavily onto the floor.  Slowly, laboriously he elbowed his way toward the kitchen.  After what seemed like hours, he crossed the threshold and there – on the kitchen table – was a plate of warm brownies.  He moved forward and then slowly extended his grasp . . . . fingers . . . . reaching . . . . almost there.

Just then his wife walked in the kitchen – “GEORGE!”  You leave those brownies alone!  Those are for the funeral!