An old man is on his death bed…
His wife is holding his hand while he struggles with his breathing.
On the table is a photograph of five strapping young lads and one very scrawny young man.
He looks at the photo and tries to speak.
“Martha, how did it happen? My five strong boys winning competitions, chopping wood, marrying beautiful women, and having many children.”
“Hush, Arthur, don’t waste your breath.”
“Martha, be honest is the youngest mine? I won’t be mad, you’ve been faithful for all these years. Did I hurt you and you solace in the arms of another?”
“Oh, Arthur, of course he’s yours! Our beautiful boy is yours!”
But Arthur keeps trying to get Martha to confess and she keeps assuring him the youngest is really his boy.
“Please, just admit it, he couldn’t be mine. He’s so scrawny and not married, not even a bastard child! He cannot be mine!”
Martha is now sobbing and trying to get Arthur to save his energy.
She keeps repeating that he really is his flesh and blood.
Arthur takes his last breath and Martha sighs,
“thank f*ck he didn’t ask about the other five.”
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