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."