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| Topic: A dying man's favorite | |
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A dying man smells his favorite oatmeal raisin cookies cooking downstairs. It takes all the strength he has left but he gets up from the bed and crawls down the stairs. He sees the cookies cooling on the counter and staggers over to them. As he reaches for one, his wife's wrinkled hand reaches out, smacks his and she yells:
"No, you can't have those! They're for the funeral!" |
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Damn!!
 
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cute...
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