The goons manhandle Sam and Dean into the hotel's grand ballroom, which has apparently been set up for a conference, as the tables have been pushed together into a horseshoe in the center of the room. Dean's rather rotund and nearly naked gentleman of color -- now far more formally attired in a dark business suit, of course -- turns from the open bar to glare at the new arrivals, and Dean's eyes focus immediately on the nametag the guy's wearing: "Hello, My Name Is GANESH." There are several quick-cuts from the nametag to traditional elephant-headed representations of nametag's bearer and back again -- like we wouldn't know who the hell Ganesh is without all of that zappy crap, show -- before Dean's eyes dart around to read some of the other nametags within his line of vision. In quick succession, we meet Odin and Baron Samedi in the exact same irritating way we met Ganesh until Dean finally reaches the preternaturally self-possessed woman from earlier. She is, of course, Kali. DUN! And when the seizure-inducing nametag flashes are done, Mercury scoots in from the kitchen wheeling a covered platter on a catering cart. "Dinner," he proudly announces, "is served!" With an appropriately grand flourish, he removes the cover to reveal...what the hell? "I am appalled!" shrieks Raoul, an aghast yet perfectly manicured paw pressed against his deeply offended chest. "That...! That...! That is the cheapest-looking pile of viscera I've ever seen in my life!" It's pretty bad. "Bad!? It is patently fake!" The perils of high-definition television, I'm afraid. "Someone should sue!" Now, now, don't be working yourself into a frenzy, my scaly friend. "But it makes me so angry!" I'm sure they'll make up for it later. "But this was supposed to be the magnificent reveal! And it's just...! It's just...!" Let it out, Raoul. "It's just...!" It's just what? "It's just some glorified extra's head resting against a toy kidney!" Sometimes we must simply endure life's disappointments, friend of friends. "Oooh! I'm so mad I could spit!" Please don't. "WHY?!" It'll stain the floor. "Hmph!"
So, yeah: Mercury lifts the lid to reveal the glorified extra who played the doomed rent-a-cop resting his head against a toy kidney, and it's an embarrassingly lousy effect, but everyone applauds, anyway, until a suddenly appearing spotlight zeroes in on Our Intrepid Heroes to blind them as that hot European piece -- Baldur, naturally -- announces, "Ladies and gentlemen, our guests of honor have arrived." And with that, the METAL TEETH CHOMP! descends to drag us all into this evening's first commercial break most woefully disappointed. "Rage! I am feeling RAGE!" Have a cocktail, honey -- it'll make you feel better. "Okay!" Well, that was easy.