Did you know that Successful Surprising Sioux City hosted an annual gathering of the world's douchebag illusionists? Yeah, neither did I, but apparently, it's a Supernatural fact, because Our Intrepid Heroes are forced to motor on over to The Gem Of The Mighty Missouri when those douchebags start dropping left and right, apparent victims of a magic most demonic. Initial suspicion falls upon The Amazing Jay (or whatever his stage name is), a broken-down, suicidal old sot who headlined at Radio City Music Hall a thousand years ago, but whose days center stage in the spotlight are now most firmly in his past. Well, until this week, that is. Jay, you see, has as of late been experiencing a remarkable turnaround in his performing abilities, packing in crowds who gasp and applaud in rabid appreciation of his death-defying stunts, but there is, of course, a catch: When he miraculously escapes with nary a scratch after a set of swords slams through his body, a douchebag on the other end of town winds up looking like a pincushion, and when he similarly manages to slip from a noose entirely unharmed, another douchebag's found dangling from his hotel room's ceiling fan, most assuredly dead.
However, in a shocking twist, it turns out it's not poor schlubby Jay who's been working all that horribly black mojo, though -- rather, it's his longtime and exceedingly long-lived friend Charlie, who acquired a grimoire from none other than P.T. Barnum himself way, way back in the day, and gradually worked his way through the wicked, evil spells he found therein until he achieved some sort of immortality. And because Charlie's never had a friend so true as Jay (and some other old guy named Vernon, who's pretty much an afterthought as far as tonight's main plot is concerned), Charlie would like Jay (and Vernon) to benefit similarly from the grimoire's actual, honest-to-Satan magic. Of course, this is impossible, because Jay comes to realize that Charlie's simply the biggest douchebag of them all, and Jay's forced to gut Charlie like a pig with some sleight-of-hand and a dagger to his own stomach. (Don't ask.) So much for that immortality dear old Charlie supposedly secured for himself a hundred and fifty years ago, right?
If you noticed a distinct lack of the show's leads in the preceding paragraphs, it's because they really have absolutely nothing to do with anything that's going on this evening. Instead, the main action between the elderly douchebag illusionists serves to reflect the trauma and tribulations of Our Intrepid Heroes' own miserable lives, but in a shocking twist that actually is, this isn't such a bad thing. And in the end, Darling Sammy decides he doesn't want to end up as the hunting world's version of washed-up old douchebag Jay, and he agrees to join Ruby on her quest to slaughter Lilith -- by any means necessary. DUN!
Rattle, Rattle BLOOD-RED THEN! and oh, my. How shall I put this delicately? Let's see: While Dashing El Deano chilled out with all the cool beasties down in Hell -- flaying open the bodies of various rightfully condemned souls and wondering when he was finally going to get a chance at the truly deserving like Donald Rumsfeld and Paul Bremer, no doubt -- Ruby The Not-So-Sparkly-Haired Demon saved Darling Sammy's life with her magical undead vagina, and The Corpse Fucker came through the experience so reenergized, he was able to exorcise various smart-mouthed adversaries simply through the power of his almighty brain. How was that? "Most indelicate indeed!" shrieks Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon, somewhat appalled. "But accurate!" Excellent. As you know, accuracy is my primary goal. "Then you've succeeded! Do continue!" Thanks, friend of friends, but I almost missed the part wherein we learned The Corpse Fucker's almighty brain proved most ineffective against one adversary in particular: Alastair, who also happened to be one of Dashing El Deano's tightest beastie buddies, as it turns out. And when all was said and done, The Corpse Fucker vowed never to use his almighty brain ever again. Got all that? Good, because we must now request your silence for the...
...Slashy, Slashy NOW! Shortly after the Slashy NOW! advances into the blackness, the shot cross-fades to a clot of easily amused pedestrians clustered around a an affable-enough bespectacled gent who's sporting a ridiculously tacky crimson faux-leather sport coat. The gent's affixed a white, heart-shaped balloon to a tray, and after he carefully displays said balloon to his impromptu guests, the gent pulls something tricky that somehow transforms the balloon into a white dove, much to the appreciation of the onlookers. The camera pans up above the throng to linger upon a pair of street banners affixed to the nearby lamppost, from which we learn that Sioux City, Iowa, is celebrating something called MAGIC WEEK. The banners -- illustrated with top hats, canes, and pairs of white gloves -- are also careful to welcome THE INTERNATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF DOUCHEBAGS. Well, that last word might have been "MAGICIANS," but given the title for this week's episode, you'll forgive me for getting it wrong. Repeatedly. Throughout the recap.
Meanwhile, over in some bar, another douchebag showily riffles a deck of cards between his hands, but as that's all he does with them, I might be wrong in calling him a douchebag, as he might simply be a wandering, freelance croupier, but that's not important at the moment.