So a man walks into a bar and orders up a double whiskey, and tips the bartender generously to keep them coming. The bartender asks why.
"It's Bessie, man! She weighs two tons, she's mean, and she packs a powerful wallop."
A black male is standing near the bar, and overhears this conversation. His race and sex aren't actually important to this story, but I thought I'd mention it just to be detailed and descriptive. That's what everyone says they like about Stephen King. He's really great, so they say. Anyway, this is what the guy said, "I'm very sorry about your wife, stranger. A toast to the drowning of sorrows!"
The first guy looks at the second guy confused for a moment. At length, he replies, "I'm talking about my new truck, and I'm celebrating!"
The second guy says, letting a thin wisp of smoke escape from his lips as he stares with eyes that suddenly seem to have no lids at the first fellow, forgetting the pale yellow draft of Coors Light in his hand, "You ran over your wife! Holy crap! I'm even more sorry! I'll buy you a drink!"
"..." says the first guy, for that is the only constructive thing he could say to the other guy. He then wanders off to inspect the pool tables, gleefully proclaiming the Good News about how his truck has given him new life.