So I was out in the south forty on the John Deere spreading around some asbestos and tilling it under. i get paid a buttload to take that stuff off the hands of them rich city folks who is refurbing old homes. Anyway, there I was kicked back, steering with my leg, scarfing down a quadruple bacon and egg sanwich and finishing off my 2nd six pack of Leinenkugel's, when damn if my cigar don't just leap outta my hand and hit the floor. I figured if I pick it up before I count to 3 then no harm, no foul. Am I right? I lean over and all hell breaks loose. Fell out of the seat and almost ended up on the ground. The tractor is still puttin along but now it's headed for the river that sits between my property and the Danburry nukelear power plant. I'm hanging onto a couple spark plug wires with one hand and trying to keep from getting sucked under the rear wheel. It was at that moment that my wife called on the CB radio. "Vern" she says, "My bags are packed and I'm leaving you for the nice man we met in Jamaica last winter. So this is good bye". In about 1 second I was so mad my eyeballs about popped. Then I was in a long tunnel with a bright light at the end. That's all I remember.