Reporter, passing by: “Excuse me, gentlemen. Could I have a word with you?”

Edward: “We’re a little busy here and this thing is kind of heavy so… no.”

James: “Get lost, sister.”

Reporter:  “This will only take a few minutes. I couldn’t help but notice that you appear to be in the midst of a heist. As a reporter, I find that very exciting.”

Edward: “A heist? This ain’t a heist. We’re just… moving stuff. We’re movers. On a job.”

Reporter: “And why would you need a gun for that?”

James: “It’s for safety. This is a bad neighborhood. People get killed all the time. Like nosy reporters.”

Reporter: “Wait a minute. That box looks like it has alcohol in it. Alcohol is against the law during Prohibition. Why are you moving boxes of alcohol?”

Edward: “This ain’t alcohol, it’s…”

James: “It’s a casket. See, it has “Old Grand-Dad” on it. Grandpa didn’t make it.”

Reporter: “It also says ‘bourbon whisky’ on it.”

Edward: “That was his nickname. He liked to drink whiskey. He died because he was so sad about not getting to drink it anymore.”

Reporter: “That’s an awfully small box for a casket.”

James: “Grandpa was really short. He was in the circus. Are you making fun of short people who die?”

Reporter: “Of course not, I would never dream of it. But the box says ‘Since 1788’. Was Short Grandpa also a vampire?”

James: “Okay, I’ve had enough. Lady, you need to move along or you are never going to write any news stories again.”

Reporter: “That sounds like a threat. I don’t take kindly to threats.”

James: “Do you take kindly to bullets?”

Reporter: “Well, not necessarily. So I suppose I should go. But I do have one more question.”

Edward: “It better be your last. We gotta get Grandpa in the ground.”

Reporter: “Why are both of you wearing so much makeup that this looks like fetish night at a gay bar?”