In no particular order:
a .38, several roaches, a joint or twenty, a case of beer (under a backseat), several cd'* (including "The passion of frogs, a night in the everglades") a prosthetic foot, Vicodin, Prilosec, an urn (complete with Grandpa'* ashes) and enough sex toys to start my own shop. And that'* just the stuff you'd believe! Yes, I'm a car salesman. (But the good kind, not the one you want to stab in the eye) I've also returned every single one of the items listed above. Change in the ashtray is fair game.