Motel. Bored Sam flops around in his undersized chair until the air conditioning unit wheezes on of its own accord and promptly starts belching smoke into the room. Sam -- adorable -- gets this immense sulky-lip on his face and pleads, "Oh, come on! I didn't...I wasn't...[sigh]." Hee. He warily rises to his full fifteen-foot height and just as warily approaches the belching air conditioner, uncertain what, exactly, he should be doing about it at the moment. That uncertainty flees when the unit erupts into flames, which Sam beats back with a comforter from one of the beds, only to discover he's set his own sleeve on fire in the process, and it all ends when Sam smothers the fire on his sleeve so emphatically with the room's drapes that he pulls the entire curtain rod down on his head, knocking himself senseless to the floor. Standing watch just outside the window while all this is going on? Krazy Kubrick and his BFF Creedy. Creedy -- again -- goggles in disbelief while Krazy Kubrick -- again -- offers up a silent bit of praise to Jeebus.
Queens, and oh, SHIT! "Demian, dear!" Raoul shrieks, concerned for my welfare. "Whatever could be the matter!?" HER, YOU PEABRAIN. "I do beg your pardon I'm sure, but WHAT did you just call me?!" Sorry! I'm sorry! But Bela here with her swanky loft and her priceless antiques and her wine refrigerator and her Siamese cat and her Posh Spice accent with its lyooo-kritive maaah-kits and her...and I...I...I FUCKING HATE HER. That hatred, yes, is based purely upon the entirely superficial attributes noted above, and yes, I know I should wait to see where there going with all of this, but still: HATE!
So. Anyway. Queens. Bela's a raaah-thah proficient broker of supernatural artifacts. Dean hates her almost as much as I do. Next!
Motel. Krazy Kubrick and his BFF Creedy have lashed Darling Sammy to an undersized chair with duct tape, and Krazy Kubrick confesses he believes he's now on a mission from God.
Queens. Dean and I are now about even with our levels of hatred for Bela, though I still despise her a little bit more than he does, despite the fact that he's got that whole bitch-gonna-kill-my-brother! thing going on at the moment because Bela refuses to release the mangy fetish unless Dean coughs up one million dollars, and Dean doesn't realize that Zombie Sam, Hell's Unnatural Master! is immortal. Bela does, however, get in a good one when she calls the hunting community "a bunch of obsessed, revenge-driven sociopaths trying to save a world that can't be saved." Insert your own joke about the similarities between hunters and SYCOTIC fangirls here. Long story short because I want her off my television screen, while Bela was carrying on, Dean swiped the mangy fetish back, and he now escapes as every single bullet she fires at his rapidly vanishing backside instead ricochets around her tastefully appointed loft. The Siamese is most displeased. Shut up, cat.