Our Intrepid Heroes make their supposed "Sacred Annual Pilgrimage" to Las Vegas together, but Dashing El Deano somehow ends up all by his lonesome, chatting up grad-student strippers, when Darling Sammy decides to go walkabout out in the desert for what I'm assuming are overbearingly pretentious reasons. Even worse -- much, much worse, as it turns out -- when Darling Sammy finally does resurface, it's as the grinning groom to none other than Becky The Wincesting Fangirl, whom you'll likely recall from such far-better episodes as this one and that one. Dean, naturally, is shocked and appalled by this turn of events, and he follows Sam and his new sister-in-law back to her home in Pike Creek, Delaware, where it becomes readily apparent -- to the audience, at least -- that Becky's snagged Sam through the help of some sort of "love elixir" provided by a sassy event planner and supposed Wiccan named Guy.
Meanwhile, as Dean learns, several members of the local community have been experiencing extraordinary runs of luck, only to end up mangled and beaten and butchered to death mere days after fortune seemed to have smiled upon them. Not recognizing the obvious connection between the victims' radically altered pre-death circumstances and Becky's incredibly unlikely marriage to his brother because he's an idiot, and with a drugged-up Sam playing house with the batshit fangirl, Dean has little choice but to call Bobby for an assist. Unfortunately, Bobby's busy chasing monsters in the Pacific Northwest, so he recommends Dean hook up with a hunter we've never seen before, played by an utterly pointless and subsequently battered DJ Qualls. Together, they eventually realize that Becky's sassy gay friend is actually a Sassy Crossroads Demon who's been exploiting a loophole in the standard ten-year contract to collect the lucky locals' souls long before their various payments are actually meant to come due.
And in the end, Crowley materializes to drag his errant underling back to Hell for round after vicious round of torture -- something about Hell having greater integrity than Lehman Brothers, an integrity Sassy Guy threatened to destroy with his dodgy deals -- and with Sam thus so restored to his pre-elixir sanity, he divorces Batshit Becky with a quickness, and Our Intrepid Heroes motor on off towards their next adventure. Words cannot begin to describe how truly awful it all was.
Rattle, Rattle WE DON'T GIVE A SHIT ANYMORE THEN! Mention is made -- again -- of Dead Amy, but the important part of this week's THEN! involves the reintroduction of Becky The Wincesting Fangirl, a supremely aggravating tertiary character I'm sure you'll all recall from such past-season gems as "Sympathy For The Devil" and "The Real Ghostbusters." And if you're under the impression her presence this evening means that tonight's offering is going to be as entertaining as those other two episodes were, let me disabuse you of that notion right now. "Really?!" shrieks Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon. Really, my scaly friend. "Rats! ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" Lovely. Looks like we're in for yet another excruciatingly long night at Casa Demian. Oh, well -- no point delaying the inevitable, I suppose, so here we go:
Rattle, Rattle STILL NOT GIVING A SHIT NOW! From the murky blackness following the drippy NOW!, a location card emerges to inform us we've landed in Las Vegas, Nevada, for the first portion of this evening's festivities, and as the location card lingers there on the screen for a moment, it's joined by a pair of shapely gams, bathed in the tacky glow of a red backlight that has absolutely no business being all the way down there on the floor, as we learn when the camera rises to reveal we've found ourselves in the middle of a low-end strip club. But let's set aside any bitchery we might toss in the direction of pointless and ill-conceived lighting effects for the moment, because we've got an entire pointless and ill-conceived scene to deal with, here. Yep, the camera eventually rises high enough to reveal we've found ourselves in the middle of a low-end strip club, and it settles on Dashing El Deano, whom we greet as he's in the middle of hitting on the bleach-blonde cocktail waitress attached to those shapely gams. Were it not for the fact that the bleach-blonde cocktail waitress vanishes immediately after this scene's over, never to disturb us again for the remainder of this dreadful installment, I'd see fit to mention her hastily sketched backstory, I'm sure. As it is, I'm going to skip past that part to listen in as Dashing El Deano explains -- by way of some entirely unnecessary and unnecessarily convoluted "My Friend Has This Whackjob Brother" tale of woe he feeds the waitress -- that while he and Darling Sammy are supposed to be on their "sacred annual pilgrimage to Vegas," Sam rather rudely bailed to embark on "some granola-munching hike in the desert by himself." And with that sad fact, my estimation of Darling Sammy just plummeted. His lank, greasy hair this season, and those asinine sideburns that now threaten to eat his entire face? His incessant and incessantly mopey whining about Dead Amy? His utterly nonexistent storyline as of late? These things I can handle. But you tell me he's actually some gorilla-sized hipster hippie who'd rather be hugging rocks at Burning Man than shooting monsters in the face with rock salt? Forget it. Sam Winchester is dead to me. You know, until he takes off his shirt again.