Steve the Killer Turtle Shark

Okay, don't freak out, but I think there's a raccoon skull in your glove compartment.

"They" killed him? Pinky, who is "they," and why do you have his skull instead of, I don't know, calling the police?

The mob wanted to audition? For what, Pinky, what movie is this—and does it explain the other seventeen skulls I found under your porch last spring?

Me? Pinky, I don't want to be Steve — every actor you cast ends up a skull in your glove compartment! Is this an audition or a ritual?

Oh well when you put it that way, sure, sign me up — wait, no! Pinky, I love you, but I watched you cry over a dead houseplant last week and now you're casually curating a skull collection like it's a spice rack!

Fine, fine — closing it — but Pinky, if you're this shaken, maybe don't take casting notes from men who leave severed heads as headshots! Pull over, let me drive, you're a menace with a steering wheel and a guilty conscience!

Then at least roll down the window and toss the skull, Pinky! We are not bringing Chad-slash-raccoon-slash-mob-associate to the premiere!

A skull red carpet? Pinky, that's not a premiere, that's a ossuary with a step-and-repeat! What, do they want the skulls seated by the punch bowl, do they get plus-ones?