“What the Hell are funeral urns doing in the back of our SUV?”

“Good question, Anson. What are funeral urns doing in the back of our SUV … that you bought and supposedly checked out, and which was such an amazing deal?”

“Hold on now, Gina. You can’t go blaming me for this. It was obviously some slight oversight on the part of Fred’s Auction. I had nothing to do with it. It’s not my fault.”

“Of course, it’s not your fault. It’s never your fault. It wasn’t your fault when you bought that car with the dead skunk in the trunk, either, was it? That dead skunk made the car unfit for human habitation. That was another great deal, as I recall. Now we have dead people in the back of our SUV.”

“Wait a minute, Gina. They ain’t exactly dead people. They are dead people’s ashes. That is, assuming the urns are actually full. Check to see if they are full.”

“What? I’m not checking for any such thing. First, you know how I hate anything to do with death, dead people, or dead things in general. Secondly, you bought this death mobile, this hearse, you come over here and check it out your own damn self. I don’t want no part of this disgusting business.”

“Fine, fine, fine. Let me look at these.” Anson lifted the lid on the first urn and saw it was full of ashes. He didn’t bother with the second urn; he just lifted it to see if it had any significant weight. “Yep. They are both filled with ashes.”