Quote:
Originally posted by Dan_ref
Reminds me of an old joke.
A man of a particular ethnic persuasion was having a disussion with his young son concerning ethics. The son asked him what is meant by the term "moral dilemma". The father answered as follows:
"Abie my son, you know that your Uncle Herbie and I are partners in a clothing store on the lower east side?"
"Yes Pappa, a fine store it is!" replied the son.
"Well son, here's an example of a moral dilemma. Imagine a rich shiksah from the upper east side comes into our store and buys a hat for her husband."
"OK Pappa."
"Now imagine the hat costs $40."
"Oh pappa, that is an expensive hat!"
"Yes Abie, it is. Now imagine the woman pays with two twenty dollar bills and leaves with her purchase."
"Oh Pappa, I do hope she comes again!!"
"Yes my son. Now Abie, imagine that as you put the money in the cash register you notice that there's a $100 bill stuck between the twenties."
"Oi gevald Pappa, how could that be??!"
"Yes my son, it is terrible. And now here's the dilemma: Do you tell your Uncle Herbie about the extra 100?"
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The little, old Jewish man was on his death bed. While suffering the agonies of his impending demise, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his very all-time favorite, special cookies- marzipan dreidel cookies. Gathering his little remaining strength, the old man lifted himself from the bed and fell out on the floor. He then crawled slowly over to the door and made his way through it. With even greater effort, he crawled to the head of the stairs, grasped the railing with both hands, and slowly--very sloooooowly- step by step--made his way down the stairs. At the bottom, following the delicious scent of his favorite cookies, he crawled over to the kitchen door, managed somehow to reach up with almost the last of his strength and turn the door knob, and then crawled slowly through the open door into the kitchen. Were it not for the pain wracking his body, he now would have thought himself already in heaven- for there, laid out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table were literally hundreds of still steaming, fresh from the oven, marzipan dreidel cookies. Was this truly heaven, or was this one final act of heroic love from his devoted wife of 63 years, seeing that he would leave this life a happy man? Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself towards the table, landing in a crumpled heap just beside it. With the last of his strength, he reached up with an aged, withering and shaking hand towards a cookie at the side of the table, and......
His wife smacked his hand with a spatula. "Back off" she said. "Those cookies are for the funeral".
Thought I'd throw that one in. This thread is down the dumper anyway.