Fry Bread

The old tribal chairman was on his death bed. He had only hours to live when he suddenly smelled the scent of fry-bread wafting into his room. Aaahhhh. . . He loved fry-bread more than anything else in the world.

With his last bit of energy, he pulled himself out of bed. . . Down the stairs and into the kitchen he went. There was his beloved wife, Lillian, kneading the dough for a new batch. As he reached for one of the fresh steaming fry-breads, he got smacked across the back of his hand by the wooden spoon his wife was holding. “Leave them alone!” she said. “They’re for the funeral!”

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