RAAAWWWR! "Eeeeeeeeeeeee!" Raoul shrieks, still squirmily delighted by the blazing title card even after all these episodes. I must say, Raoul, you've been awfully quiet so far. You aren't still mad at me, are you? "Of course not!" Well, then, what's with the silent treatment during the teaser? You didn't even howl at the gore. "Strictly second-rate, if you ask me! A few dollops of Karo Syrup dripping down that gentleman's face?! Insulting! I won't waste my voice on it! I'll be saving that for the scene in which the charming young ghoul shoves the morbidly obese movie producer into a wind machine, thanks very much!" Raoul! Spoiler! "Oh, ooops! Hee!"
The camera fades up above a Hollywood backlot just as a little tourist tram rounds a corner below. We can hear the unbearably perky tour guide babble, "First opened in 1927, the lot has been in continuous operation for eight decades!" and shut up, unbearably perky tour guide, even if you did manage to get the year right. The camera hops down inside the tram itself, where we find El Deano giddily enthusing, "Hey, you know this is where they filmed Creepshow?" His seatmate, a tubby adolescent wad of BLAAAAARG sucking on an ice cream cone, is singularly unimpressed. Wacky, circus-like oom-pah-pah flatulence arrives on the soundtrack just as the unbearably perky tour guide announces they're coming up on the Stars Hollow set. The camera shoots forward in the car to note Darling Sammy's suddenly uncomfortable demeanor. When the unbearably perky tour guide blathers something about being lucky enough to meet one of the show's stars, Sam gulps, shoots a disgusted side-eye over his shoulder at Dean, and hisses, "Come on!" before bolting from the tram. Oh, Sam. That Ventimiglia douche left for NBC a year ago. You don't have to worry about running into him here anymore.
Our Intrepid Heroes leave the main drag of the backlot behind and wander through some trailers on their way to Stage Nine. Dean's awfully delighted to be there, and excitedly points out Matt Damon off to the side. The Ginormotron glances over and sniffs, "I'm pretty sure that's not Matt Damon." "No, it is," Dean insists instantly, refusing to look again. "Well," Sam eyerolls, "Matt Damon just picked up a broom and started sweeping." Insert your own joke about the appropriateness of the janitorial professions for that particular actor here. Dean, ignoring me, insists that Matty Boy's simply researching a role, so Sam blows it all off to drag Dean off to their intended destination. Dean protests that they should check out more of the lot before they get down to business, as they came to Los Angeles "for a vacation -- swimming pools and movie stars," the whole deal. Sam snarks something about the current weather being a little too Canadian for swimming before Dean makes reference to the late, unlamented (by me, at any rate, because she was a motherfucking werewolf, for Christ's sake) Madison by way of announcing to us all that he thought this fun little trip to Hollywood would take Sam's tremendous mind off his recent troubles. Sam rather unhealthily insists that work helps keep his mind off of things, thank you very much, and Our Dear Boys finally get around to discussing this week's case. By the way, apropos of absolutely nothing, they've been ambling along for all of a minute at most, and they've already passed extras attired as cowboys and Roman centurions. I'm surprised The Kripkeeper didn't go all out with the superfluous background supernumeraries by tossing in a gaggle of Vegas-style showgirls, a cluster of cigarette smoking Louis XIV aristocrats, a couple of half-naked Indians chatting up a Zulu warrior princess, and Hitler.