A very hep instrumental of "We Wish You A Merry Christmas" -- groovy, baby, groovy -- swings away on the soundtrack as Sam and Dean return to sludgy-brained consciousness and find themselves strapped back-to-back into a couple of chairs in the Carrigans' kitchen. "So, I guess we're dealing with Mr. and Mrs. God," Sam shrugs as best he can. "Nice to know," he adds with a somewhat resigned yet sarcastic nod. Hee. Madge bustles in at this point -- she and Eddie have changed into a pair of complementary seasonal knits for the impending festivities, don't you know -- and sings, "Oh, and here we thought you two lazybones were gonna sleep right through all the fun stuff!" "And miss all this?" Dean sarcastically replies. "Nah, we're partiers!" "Isn't he a kick in the pants, honey?" Fast Eddie unironically enthuses, and as the utterly wholesome good humor these two Eisenhower-era throwbacks display through nearly all of the horror that follows is stubbornly recapper-proof, played for twisted laughs as it all is, let's get to the facts, such as they are: Madge and Eddie are, indeed, ancient pagan gods who used to receive upwards of a hundred human sacrifices a year back in the salad days, pre-Christianity, but once that "Jesus fellow" came around, they found themselves "hunted down like common monsters," so for the last two thousand years, they've kept their heads down, and when the time was right, they assimilated quite well into suburban American culture, thank you very much. Well, except for that whole abducting-and-eating-their-neighbors thing, but whatever. In the meantime, while they've been lecturing Our Intrepid Heroes, they've also been slicing open otherwise remarkably healthy forearms to drizzle fresh blood into ritual bowls and such, and now Fast Eddie approaches Darling Sammy with a pair of pliers, forces open the dear lad's hand, and slowly yanks out the nail from his index finger. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" bays Raoul, shrieking himself into an elated frenzy. "Again! Again! Let's watch it again!" Raoul, you know I'd do anything for you, but in this instance, I just simply can't -- my own fingernails feel like they're crawling back into my hands in sympathetic agony. "Oh, poop!" Raoul pouts. "Have it your way, then, you wimp!" I...intend to. Thanks? Now, where were we? Oh, yes: Fast Eddie next jovially moves to extract one of Dean's teeth, but fortunately for Dean's dazzling smile and my already shredded nerves, the doorbell rings. "Shuh-ah-ee gowwa geh 'at?" Dean slurs around a mouthful of hardware. "Yee shuul geh 'at," he nods once the bell has rung again. Hee.