In any event, Bobby hasn't a clue how to break the foot's curse, but he promises to find out before this evening's presentation is done. Or something like that. As Bobby hangs up, Stupid Sammy foolishly stuffs the mangy fetish into the pocket of his jacket rather than the pocket of his jeans, because the script told him to do so. Dim Dean, completely unaware of their current predicament, flaps the lottery tickets around in the air and grins, "Dude! We're up fifteen grand!" Sam pouts.
Still pouting, Sam leads Dean into a nearby chain restaurant and mopily asks for a table. By way of response, the middle-aged manager shouts, "Congratulations!" while shoving one of those gigantic prize checks into their hands. Well, it's gigantic for Li'l Stumpy, there. The Ginormotron could probably just...you know what? You already know where I'm going with that, so let's keep this moving instead, shall we? Good. Seems Lucky Sammy's the Biggerson's Sizzlin' Grill & Bar's one millionth customer, and so is entitled to free food for one year. As balloons and glittery confetti drop from the ceiling to shower Our Intrepid Heroes, suddenly appearing waitstaff arrive to serenade them while snapping their photos. The shot they end up using features El Deano in full-on delighted glory with Sam making the most mightily pissypantsed bitchface I think we've ever seen him pull on this show. Hee.
Magic Eyes Jesus RV Park And Grill. Krazy Kubrick's canvassed his entire address book, but no one's seen Sam. Creedy suggests they break for a snack of tasty garlic knots at a place he knows just down the road. Krazy Kubrick hesitates, so Creedy makes to call up the restaurant's online menu on his laptop.
Back at Biggerson's, Sam's blathering on about slaughtering rabbits under a full moon in a graveyard on Friday The Thirteenth while Dean gets brain freeze from the sundae he's scarfing down. Heh. A shapely waitress saunters on over to freshen Sam's coffee, and oh, my holy God, that wig she's sporting on the top of her head is ass. It is, in fact, so horrifically bad, that I just sit here, staring at it, waiting for her to rip that shit off and show us the scar. It isn't even trying to match her eyebrows! How could the boys not notice this...this...this stoopid, crappy, hateful excuse for a disguise? "Demian, darling," Raoul sagely interjects. "They're not looking at her head!" Doy! You're right, my scaly friend, you're right. And look at that, while I was so distracted by the ass wig and Our Intrepid Heroes were distracted by whatever the hell it was they were looking at, the shapely waitress has managed to swipe the mangy fetish right from Sammy's pocket! D'oh! The boys quickly realize Sam's luck has run out when he dumps an entire cup of coffee into his lap, then biffs a busboy in the face with the guy's own tray. They storm out of the restaurant, but the shapely waitress is long gone, having discarded her Ass Wig in the Dumpsters out front after carefully folding the mangy fetish in a dishtowel to avoid touching the thing directly herself. Besides, The Ginormotron's not so skilled with the whole chasing thing now, anyway, as his unlucky feet get tangled up in themselves almost immediately, and he face-plants in the parking lot. "Wow, you suck," Dean opines as he shakes his head and hauls his freshly clumsy oaf of a brother to the latter's feet. "So, now your luck turns bad?" Dim Dean demands, because he has not been following this evening's plot points. Perhaps he is as bored with it all as we are. "I guess," Sam winces, examining the newly opened gashes in his knees. "Wonder how bad," Dean mutters to himself as he lopes off towards the Impala, and I am pleased to inform him that it's...