Soulless Sammy remains rather amusingly unconcerned despite his brother's audible distress, and he casually orders another beer from the comely waitress as Dean screams, "Close encounter! Close encounter!" This bit of information rouses Soulless Sammy's interest, and he excitedly wonders, "What kind? First? Second?" "They're after me!" Dean bellows, still racing through the corn, that brilliant white light following him every step of the way. "Third kind already?" Soulless Sammy marvels before sagely advising, "You better run, man -- I think the fourth kind is a butt thing." "Empathy, Sam!" Dean howls. "Empathy!" Dean eventually reaches another segment of the crop circle, and he hastily discards his cell to slide a silvered knife from his waistband, choosing to confront his still-invisible attackers with all of the weapons currently at his disposal. "Come on!" he foolishly challenges, and in response, that brilliant white light expands and intensifies until Dean just vanishes from the screen. Back at the bar, Soulless Sammy makes indifferent note of the abruptly disconnected call, shrugs slightly to himself, takes a swig of his just-arrived beer, and admiringly examines the waitress's derriere before dropping into this evening's first CHOMP!-less commercial break.
Later that evening, Sam tracks down Dean's abandoned cell, and he wanders entirely unmolested through the cornfield for a very lengthy period of time until he emerges into a clearing currently populated by a gaggle of UFO-chasing idiots, plus Robert Picardo. Whose character name I have already forgotten. "As have I!" Give it a rest, Raoul -- you totally weren't paying attention to that scene in the first place. "Curses! I have been found out! Hee!" Well, at least you're still awake. "Not for very much longer, if this dreadful installment maintains its dreary pace!" Well, maybe something good'll happen in the next couple of minutes. "Hooray!" Though I very much doubt it. "Rats!" Now, where the hell was I? Oh, yes: This hideously boring scene. Sam arrives at the impromptu idiot campground to find several stupid hippies regaling each other with that cloying five-tone alien theme from Close Encounters Of The Third Kind. He wisely avoids all of them in favor of ambling over to this evening's primary guest star, whom he curtly greets with, "So, they're real -- UFOs?" Robert Picardo smiles something dumb by way of response, but Soulless Sammy doesn't have time for any of his dippy bullshit, and immediately gets down to business by demanding, "How do I get 'em?" Robert Picardo's all, "I beg your pardon?" so Sam barks, "You hunt ETs, right? I need to know how to get them." "You and me both," Robert Picardo grins again, passing Sam an utterly useless leaflet.