"That was smooth," Maddie remarks regarding Dean's choice of exit gestures. "He means well," Sam needlessly apologizes. "You mean he thinks you're gonna get laid," she corrects. Sam, dumbfounded, looks back at her and bumbles for a bit before flatly stating, "Look, I know I scare the crap out of you, all right?" "I mean," he continues, adding an "um, duh" eyeroll, "I tied you to a chair." Maddie counters, "That's right up there with me scratching up your face." Sam nods a bit at this before dropping his head and sighing, "There's just no way we can go back, you know? Before it happened?" "You're right," she allows solemnly enough but with a hint of a twinkle in her eye. "There's just no way." Sam shakes his head slightly and sadly, looks down at the floor, then focuses The Super-Special Pleading Puppy-Dog Eyes Of Extreme Horniness And Doom on her face. Maddie immediately shoves her tongue down his throat. As one does. Oh, and then little mister pissypants goody-two-shoes bitchface here -- our very own Saint Sammy Of The Celibately Afflicted -- tosses her up against a wall and starts humping. Freak. And then there's clothes torn off and bodies falling into bed and fingernails scraping across remarkably broad backs and mouths and sweat and lips, and all of a sudden Bedtime Action Sammy's got a piece of flesh in his mouth, and he doesn't know whose it is or what it is, and he doesn't give a good goddamn about it now because the sheets are in the air! And the mattress is out the window, and boxspring is in the closet, and the next thing he knows, his ass is jammed between that bedframe and that wall, and shoulders! And biceps! And neck and moles and pores and Screaming Trees screaming "Look At You" and, no, really, look at them! Just look at them! I have never been so disgusted and appalled by a piece of televised trash in my entire life!