Out in the exercise yard, Dean's playing Texas Hold 'Em with this brutally hot inmate for cigarettes. I swear to God, between El Deano, Darling Sammy, and this guy, I've never -- never -- seen so many people look so good in prison orange, of all things, and for Christ's sake. In any event, Dean of course wins, and the frustrated and brutally hot inmate huffs his brutally hot self off to another quadrant of the yard which instantly becomes as brutally hot as he is simply by benefit of his mere presence. Woof. In any event, thus left alone, Our Dear Boys conduct a processing summit to incorporate Darling Sammy's newfound information on Mark Moody's cause of death into their overall plan. After Dean informs his younger brother of Mad Dog's sad passing the previous evening, Sam proposes that they break into the old block to search Mark Moody's former cell for any remaining blood, which they should then salt and burn. El Deano is eminently amenable to this plan, going so far as to compare Darling Sammy favorably to Clint Eastwood in Escape From Alcatraz. Sam's all, "Yes, yes, thank you very much for the compliments, but where the hell are we going to find accelerant in this place?" El Deano compares himself favorably to James Garner in The Great Escape and, hoisting fistfuls of his poker winnings into the air, he climbs up onto the bench he'd been sitting upon to shout, "Hey, fellas! Who's ready to deal?" "Fellas"? "I think the dear boy is revealing far more than he'd like!" Raoul! Shhhh! "ooops!"
Cafeteria. Our Intrepid Heroes run through their cunning plan one last time before setting it in motion, but I'm too busy staring at their biceps to care. Yowza. After their trays are filled with more overcooked pasta, Sam peels off in one direction while Dean deliberately plants himself in front of Mad Dog's presumably grieving henchling to start in with the antagonizing. "Save room for dessert, Tiny!" Dean opens with a smarmy smile that never leaves his face throughout what follows before continuing, "I wanted to ask you -- because I couldn't help but notice that you are two tons of fun -- just curious: is that, like, a thyroid problem, or it some deep-seated self-esteem issue? 'Cause, you know. They're just doughnuts. Not love." Hee. During all of this, Stealthy Sammy's been surreptitiously moving himself into position, so that when Tiny rises to the bait and decks Dean clear across the face, Sam's ready to bolt through the kitchen the instant the guards charge. Which they do when one of their fellows attempts to subdue Tiny with a spectacularly unsuccessful chokehold, mainly because that fellow is a full two feet shorter than Tiny, here, so all Tiny has to do is reach back and flip the guy over his head. By the way, the Foley guys are going absolutely nuts with the Naugahyde whacking noises here whenever Dean manages to land a punch on Tiny's face, and it's amusing me far more than it should. In any event, after Danforth and the remaining guards finally race over to break up the brawl, Stealthy Sammy busts into the kitchen, scoops up a handy plastic condiment dispenser, shimmies his remarkably broad form through a tiny little narrow air duct, and finally arrives in the old cell block. I hope for his sake he actually grabbed the salt. I don't think Skinny 'N' Sweet's going to do the trick, here.