His dying words

The wife and I were sitting at the breakfast table one Sunday morning.

I said to her, “When I die, I want you to immediately sell all of my stuff.”

“Now why would you want me to do that?” she asked.

“I figure that you would eventually remarry and I don’t want some asshole using my stuff.”

She looked at me and said, “What makes you think I’d marry another asshole?”

(Thank you, Harry.)