Ég nenni ekki að þýða þetta en það kunna hvort eð er flestir ensku.

There was an elderly man at home, upstairs, dying in bed.

He smelled the aroma of his favorite chocolate chip cookies
baking. He wanted one last cookie before he died. He fell out of bed, crawled to the landing, rolled down the stairs and crawled into the kitchen where his wife was busily baking cookies.

With his last remaining strength he crawled to the table and was just barely able to lift his withered arm to the cookie sheet. As he grasped a warm, moist chocolate chip cookie, his favorite kind, his wife suddenly whacked his hand with a spatula.

Gasping for breath, he asked her, “Why did you do that?”

“Those are for the funeral.”