To my Son:
Equity on my car. Now he'll have to go to work to meet the payments.
To my Banker:
My soul. He has the mortgage on it anyways.
To my Neighbour:
My clown suit. He'll need it if he continues to farm as he has in
the past.
To F.C.C. :
My unpaid bills. They took some real chances on me and I want
to do something for them.
To the Farm Centre:
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 high market.
To OMAF:
My farm plan. Maybe they can understand it.
To the Junkman:
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 are
used to carrying me.
To the Weatherman:
Rain, sleet, snow for the funeral, please. No sense in having good
weather now.
To the Gravedigger:
Don't bother. The hole I'm in now should be big enough.
To the Monument Maker:
Set up a jig for the epital. "Here lies a farmer who has now properly
assumed all his
obligations."
