...stakeout, several hours later. Our Intrepid Heroes have discreetly parked the Impala several feet away from Bad Touch Santa's double-wide on the fringes of the tree farm, and after groaning about the lateness of the hour and the lack of caffeine, Dean teasingly wonders why Sam "is The Boy Who Hates Christmas." Sam attempts to stop the conversation before it really gets going, but Dean persists, promising to do Christmas right for once if Sam will only agree to it all. Sam, because he is a moron, and because the script insists he must be in order for him not to realize what's really going on here, finally rolls his eyes and sighs, "If you want to have Christmas, knock yourself out. Just don't involve me." Dean incredulously wiggles his eyebrows around all, "Oh, yeah, that'll be great -- me and myself making cranberry molds." The self-mocking self-pity drains from his tone before he reaches the end of that sentence, though, when both he and Sam notice Bad Touch Santa suspiciously drawing closed the tatty curtains in his double-wide. "What's up with Saint Nicotine?" Dean frowns. As if to answer that question, a woman's cries echo out from the double-wide, so the next thing we know, Our Intrepid Heroes are silently storming the trailer with guns at the ready. The way Jared Padalecki's flippy coif is fluttering back from the sides of his head in the run up to Bad Touch Santa's trailer is terribly reminiscent of Farrah Fawcett's wings in action on Charlie's Angels, by the way, and it's making me snicker inappropriately.
In any event, just as Dean's about to burst through the door, Sam emits a few inappropriate snickers of his own. "What?" Dean hisses. "It's just that, uh, well, you know," Sam allows, "Mister Gung-Ho Christmas might have to blow away Santa." Hee. Dean executes a perfect double-take at this before refocusing his attention on the foul depredations likely taking place behind Bad Touch Santa's door, and they finally barge in to find...Bad Touch Santa parked on his sofa in a stained beater, a bottle of Bushmills in one fist and a four-foot-long bong in the other! "The hell are you doing here?" the coot slurs belligerently while staggering to his feet. Dean shoots a horrified glance over at the TV screen and quickly realizes Bad Touch Santa's additionally been indulging in his apparent taste for bad Christmas-themed porn from the '70s, both from the bamp-chicka-wow-wow soundtrack and the dialogue which includes such gems as "Mistle my toe!", "Roast my chestnuts!", and "Jingle my bells!" To his credit, Dean thinks fast and starts in with a rendition of "Silent Night" so off-key, my downstairs neighbors' basset hound is now baying up at my television through the floor. Sam quickly picks up on the whole caroling cover and joins in for a horrendous duet, and soon enough, Drunk Santa's howling along with them. Of course, no one present knows any of the words past the first two lines, which makes the entire scene that much more deliciously awful, and finally -- too quickly, if you ask me -- Our Abashed Heroes slink sheepishly out of the double-wide, leaving Drunk Santa to conduct his private holiday party in peace. Hee.