Back from the break, we rejoin Our Intrepid Heroes at the strip mall, where Dean totes up their lottery winnings while Sam receives some vital bits of exposition from Bobby via his cell. Long story short, Bobby not only knew about Sucky John's storage unit, he even built all of those curse boxes for the boys' worthless bastard of a so-called father. He also knows that the rabbit's foot they now possess is "real hoodoo old-world stuff, made by a Baton Rouge conjure-woman about a hundred years ago." "It's a hell of a luck charm," Sam guhs as he unexpectedly discovers a gold Rolex beneath a discarded copy of The Wall Street Journal on the asphalt at his feet. "It's not a luck charm!" Bobby all but rages by way of response. "It's a curse!" "You touch it, you own it," he explains. "You own it? Sure, you get a run of good luck to beat the devil, but you lose it? That luck turns -- turns so bad that you're dead inside a week!" Uh oh. "Nonsense!" Raoul interrupts. "The darling boy's one of the walking un-dead now! What could possibly hurt him?!" Um, a bullet to the brain? "False!" Raoul roars. In my ear. "As you'll recall," Raoul continues, oblivious to my excruciating agony, "delightful zombies must be impaled into their own grave beds, and as the dear boy never had a grave to begin with, he's immortal now!" Really? "Well, except for the creeping rot, of course!" Your logic is impeccable, my scaly friend. Thanks. I think. "Never a problem, you silly little man! Now get back to your story, or whatever this is!" Raoul can be such a bitch sometimes.