An old hillbilly farmer had a wife who nagged him unmercifully. From morning till night (and sometimes later), she was always complaining about something. The only time he got any relief was when he was

An old hillbilly farmer had a wife who nagged him unmercifully. From morning till night (and sometimes later), she was always complaining about something.

The only time he got any relief was when he was out plowing the fields with his old mule. Out there, it was just him, the fresh air, and the quiet—well, except for the occasional "hee-haw" from the mule, which was still a whole lot better than the other hee-hawing back home.

One day, as he was plowing, his wife stomped out to the field, hands on her hips, and launched into another long-winded tirade about how slow he was, how dirty his clothes were, and how she didn’t marry him just to live with a mule and a field of weeds.

As she was ranting, suddenly, the mule kicked backward—BAM!—right into her, knocking her flat on the ground. The farmer rushed over, but it was too late. She had gone to the great beyond.

At the funeral, the pastor noticed something odd. Every time a woman came up to the farmer to offer condolences, he nodded solemnly. But whenever a man came up, he listened for a moment, then shook his head and mumbled something.

Curious, the pastor finally asked, “What’s going on? Why are you nodding to the ladies and shaking your head at the men?”

The farmer sighed, “Well, the women keep saying how sorry they are for my loss, and I just nod along. But the men keep asking if that mule is for sale.”