TO MY WIFE: My overdraft at the bank. Maybe she can explain it.
TO MY BANKER: My soul. He has the mortgage on it anyway.
TO MY NEIGHBOR: My clown suit. He'll need it if he continues to farm as he has in the past.
TO THE ASCS: My grain bin. I was planning to let them take it next year anyway.
TO THE FARM ADVISOR: 50 bushels of corn to see if he can hit the market. I never did.
TO THE JUNK MAN: All my machinery. He's had his eye on it for years.
TO MY UNDERTAKER: A special request. I want six implement and fertilizer dealers for my pallbearers. They're used to carrying me.
TO THE WEATHERMAN: Rain, sleet, and snow for the funeral please. No sense having good weather now.
TO THE GRAVEDIGGER: Don't bother. The hole I'm in should be big enough.
TO THE MONUMENT MAKER: For the epitaph: "Here lies a farmer who has now properly assumed all of his obligations." |
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