In any event, just as things are about to get going, Dour El Deano pouts, "This job is jacked." "You want me to gank a monster or torch a corpse," Dean elaborates upon Sam's somewhat annoyed prompting, "let's light it up, right? But this? If we fix whatever this is, people are gonna start droppin' dead -- good people." And I don't have the strength to tell him to shut it, so I'll let Darling Sammy do it for me, which he accomplishes by reminding Dean of the "natural order" that's currently being violated by having all of these dead people wandering around Wyoming, and here would be the point where you insert your own joke about the Cheneys. Dean repeats Sam's line about the natural order with a disbelieving smirk on his face before wondering if Sam doesn't see the least bit of irony in that, given the fact that Our Intrepid Heroes are, as Dean puts it, "the poster boys of the unnatural order." "All we do is ditch death," Dean clarifies, and if you're looking for a character-based, honest-to-God DUN! this evening, look no further than Darling Sammy's response: "Yeah, but the normal rules don't really apply to us, do they?" Awwww. Now, there's the remarkably broad-shouldered fifteen-foot-tall Anti-Christ Ginormotron I've been looking for all season! "Evil does suit him!" Raoul sagely opines. "Have you seen his hair lately?! It's faaaaaaaaaaab-ulous!" Indeed it is, friend of friends. Indeed it is. Darling Sammy's divinely evil coif has no effect on Disapproving El Deano, however, and the latter rages ungrammatically in reply, "We're no different than anybody else!" Sam then gives a shout-out to whomever made that funny LiveJournal icon by snickering, "I'm infected with demon blood, and you've been to Hell! I know you want to think of yourself as Joe The Plumber, but you're not -- neither am I!" "The sooner you accept that," Sam concludes, "the better off you'll be." Dean, giving up on the argument, tosses his head back in frustration and asserts, "Joe The Plumber was a douche," and he's got no argument from me there, so let's keep this moving, shall we? "Let's!" As you wish, Raoul. As you wish.
So, just as they're about to get down with the Latination and whatnot, a burly cemetery caretaker barges in to disrupt the proceedings, and the LYING LIARS WHO LIE prevaricate -- badly -- regarding their current shenanigans until the caretaker rolls his eyes so far back in his head that they stick there for a moment, and for once, I mean that literally. Yep, our friendly neighborhood cemetery caretaker here has actually been possessed by Dean's old tutor-slash-nemesis, Alastair, and once the demon allows his possession's pupils to return to their proper place in the front of its skull, Dean asks an excellent question on the audience's behalf: "I thought you got deep-fried, extra crispy?" "That was just the pediatrician I was ridin'," Alastair informs us all, and now he's dropping his goddamned final Gs, too. KNOCK IT OFF, PEOPLE. "You'll pardon me for the interruption, I'm sure!" Raoul shrieks. "But I do believe they've been speaking in such manner throughout the course of the series!" Really? How the hell did I not notice it before tonight, then? "Well, my dear Demian!" Raoul begins, a chiding tone entering his shriek. "Can't you see the answer?! Hmmmm!?" Would I be asking if I could? "It's obvious! You were distracted from such déclassé intonations by all the lovely GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Ah. I suspect you're right, my faithful lizardly companion. Perhaps I should simply ignore all of it from here on out? "Perhaps you should!" Consider it done, then. Now, where was I? Oh, yes: Alastair's back, and he seems to have misplaced his shitty Brando impersonation somewhere along the way, so he can stick around for a while. The Ginormotron Anti-Christ's of a different mind on the matter, however, for when Alastair telekinetically sends Dean's stumpy little bow-legged ass end over end into a nearby tombstone, Darling Sammy prepares to deploy his Mighty Hand Of Ipecac. First, though, we must witness Alastair attempting some of the same telekinetic mojo that sent Dean into la-la land on Sam, who of course has grown immune to said mojo somewhere off-screen over the last several months. "You're stronger," Alastair admires despite himself. "You been Soloflexing with your little slut?" "You have no idea!" Sam seethes, right before telekinetically hurling Alastair against a nearby tree with some mojo of his own, and as nasty Charmed flashbacks threaten to abscond with my poor little brain at the moment, I'll skip ahead to the point where Alastair, understanding he's about to be outmatched, unhinges his possession's lower jaw and roars out into the night sky above The Anti-Christ Ginormotron's head on a cloud of bitterly black demonic goo that somehow ends up funneling itself straight into the METAL TEETH CHOMP!