A palatial estate.
Dusk.
A doorbell chimes.
A tuxedoed man opens the door, revealing a man in a work shirt.
Tuxedo: Greetings! I see you are the first brave soul to arrive tonight for our little soiree. Enter, enter.
Work shirt grabs a bag from the porch and attempts to enter, but Tuxedo stays in the threshold.
Tuxedo: As I’m sure you know, anyone who lasts the entire night here at the Culver mansion is entitled to one hundred thousand dollars. But as you also have most likely been informed, that money comes at the risk of your immortal soul as this is the domain of the damned. Come in, come in!
Work shirt again tries to enter, but Tuxedo has not budged.
Tuxedo: One hundred and forty-five ghosts have been catalogued as abiding in this wicked estate, which as I’m sure you’re aware is more than gross. Make haste, make haste.
Work Shirt is finally allowed to enter.
Work Shirt: I’m here to fix the wax ring on the second-floor toilet? Your wife called.
Tuxedo: She called a plumber for that? That’s like a $10 fix!
Work Shirt: It’s $80 just to get me out here.
Tuxedo: Aw geez. I mean, I guess you’re out here now.
Work shirt: Hey man, uh am I eligible for that hundred K?
Tuxedo: It’s kind of an invitation thing.
Work Shirt: My wife just has all these student loans. She does human rights law.
Tuxedo: Look, I’ll see what I can do.