Stage Nine, the following day. Wall-Eyed Tara and her costars emote their collective way through yet another scene inside that faux-stone cabin while behind the monitors, Marty The Writer whispers to Jay The Producer, "The poor bastard killed himself, like, for real. Shouldn't we shut it down, or something?" "We had a moment of silence for him at breakfast," Jay The Producer shrugs. "He was just a studio guy." The Unctuous McG shushes them, but he really needn't have, for Wall-Eyed Tara's concentration has just been shattered by recent events, and she calls out from the set for a break right there in the middle of the scene. "Unprofessional!" shrieks Raoul, appalled. "If I had an eye like that, I'd be on my best behavior at all times, lest I never be cast again!" And you'd not be wrong to do so, my scaly friend. In any event, once The Unctuous McG yells, "Cut!" the camera scoots over to the craft services table, where El Deano -- now a full-fledged PA with his own little headset and everything, despite having spent barely a full day on the job -- bellows out a repeat of the order to all and sundry while snacking on a plate of something crunchy. Back on the set, Wall-Eyed Tara and The Unctuous McG indulge in yet another self-referential conversation, this time about the ridiculousness of a ghost's supposed aversion to salt. The Unctuous McG turns to Marty The Writer for possible alternatives, and Marty's only too happy to abandon the salt in favor of something else from the land of condiments. Might I suggest some Xylosweet? It's been found to serve as a defense against sinus, ear, and upper respiratory infections, so why not dark demonic forces sent from the flaming maw of Hell as well? Meanwhile, over by El Deano, Walter the obsequious PA frantically riffles through the rolled-up sheets of paper he's never been seen without and moans, "Oh, you gotta be kidding me!" just loud enough for El Deano to overhear. El Deano cocks a suspicious brow. Marty, oblivious to potentially ominous goings-on elsewhere on the soundstage, wonders in Jay's direction, "What would a ghost be scared of?" before turning back to The Unctuous McG and suggesting, "Maybe shotguns?" The Unctuous McG pulls a double-take and remarks, "Okay, that makes even less sense than salt." Obsequious Walter throws his hands up in the air and storms off past Dean, muttering, "These people are idiots!"