A
FARMER'S WILL
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."
|
