John is lying on his deathbed barely able to breathe. Just as he is about to expire, the aroma of freshly baked brownies comes to him.
He has always had a passion for this confection and thinks to himself... "if I could just have one more brownie I could die in peace!"
He calls to his wife but his voice is so frail she cannot hear him. Not receiving an answer, he slides out of the bed and onto the floor. He draaaaags himself across the room and out into the hallway.
Down the hall and down the stairs he goes ever so slowly, crawling hand over hand closer to that heavenly smell. At the bottom of the stairs he pulls himself along .... painfully.... painfully, clawing his way closer to that delicious aroma.
He drags himself across the living room, across the dining room and finally pulls himself, through sheer determination of will, up into his chair at the dining table.
In his increasingly weakened state, his arm trembles as he reaches across the table and grabs the tray of freshly baked brownies, feebly pulling the tray towards himself.
In the process of being moved, the tray makes a scraping noise. Suddenly, he hears the shrill voice of his wife yelling from the kitchen, "John! Get your hands off the brownies. They're for the funeral !"
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