Subject: A Farmer's Will
From: Unicorn (unicorn@indenial.com)
Date: Fri Dec 28 2001 - 10:54:54 EST
"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 GRAVE DIGGER: 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."
****************************
"The Cowboy"
The old cowboy was dying and his young grandson
was visiting at his bedside.
"Grandpapa, can you tell me one thing?"
"Yes son, what do want to know," said the old cowboy.
"Grandpapa, how did you live so long?"
"Well, son," the cowboy said in a dry raspy voice,
from too many hard winters in the Texas panhandle,
"You just sprinkle a little gunpowder on your oatmeal
every morning and you'll live for a long, long time."
The young man faithfully did what his Grandpapa told
him and he lived to be 93, had 14 kids, 28 grand kids,
53 great grand kids and blew the doors off the oven
when they tried to cremate him.
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