The pulp cover are spicy and anatomically inaccurate today!
Lucille Ball seems pretty worried about whatever lurks in that coffin, but she needn't worry or call for Riiiiiiccccckkkkyyyyy (you've got to say it right or the joke doesn't work. You think I'm going to do all the heavy lifting for you? Kids!)
For that ... I don't know, light-green elderly man with red goggly-eyes? ... to fit in the coffin, they'd have to break his left arm in two places and saw off the right and reattach it to the top of his head with a couple bendy straws and some twist-ties. It's not really threatening. She's probably under more threat of her eyes popping out than getting attacked, though I assume that much mascara is probably gluing in those bulging peepers.
As she forced the coffin closed with her butt, I'm pretty sure Lucille was happy that she ate the whole box of ho-hos this morning.
Bonus medical mystery:
Bethany wanted to be a rootin' tootin' cowgirl, but every time she fired the six shooter it dislodged her right breast. It was mighty painful case of the right breast OwlHoots.