An oldie. I think this was told a few months ago.

Paddy was on his death-bed. As the angels gathered and the

bright light started to show, he smelled the irresistable aroma

of his favourite food, party beef and guinness pies for which his wife

was justifiably famous throughout the county.

Gathering his last strength, he crawled down to the kitchen and

struggled to the table where the treasures lay. He reached for the closest,

body trembling at the supreme effort.

As his fingers touched the pie, a wooden spoon smashed them away.

"Fuck off, Paddy, they're for the feckin funeral!"

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Calm, quiet, smooth, devastating