I Leave:   To my wife--My overdraft at the bank. Maybe she can explain it.   To my son--Equity on my car. Now he'll have to work to meet the payments.   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 EmH.A..--My unpaid bills. They took some real chances on me and I want to do something for them.   To A.S.C.S.--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.   To the SCS--My farm plan. Maybe they can understand it.   To the Junk Man--All my machinery. He's had his eyes 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, and snow for the funeral, please. No sense in having good weather now.   To the gravedigger--Don't bother. The hole I am in should be big enough.   To the Monument Maker--Set up a jig for the epitaph, "Here lies a farmer who has now properly assumed all of his obligations."   Author Unknown