Kidding! I'm so totally kidding. Like they researched liturgical colors before filming this scene. In any event, the angel never told Gloria the evil man's name, but rather assured her she'd witness a sign when the moment was right. Sure enough, the very next day she spotted the promised omen "right beside the man's doorway." "Why him?" angelically attired Sam quite reasonably wonders. "I just know what the angel told me," Gloria replies, "that this man was 'guilty to his deepest foundations.'" "And that was good enough for me," Gloria concludes with a not-at-all batshit-insane smile. Captain Empathy squints.
Meanwhile, back at the boys' motel, El Deano is sprawled on one of the beds listening to music on his Verizon LG Chocolate Clamshell VX8600 cellular phone while enjoying some tingling relaxation and ease courtesy of the bed's Magic Fingers. And just what is he listening to, you might ask? Well, according to the display on his Verizon LG Chocolate Clamshell VX8600, it's "Kashmir" by Led Zeppelin. Which means that even Dean's phone is a LYING LIAR WHO LIES, for the tinny tune we can hear through his earbuds sounds nothing like Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir." Oy. And oh, God. As if the Magic Fingers on the bed weren't enough, this room's dÃ©cor is simply porntastic, '70s-style, as the screen separating the door from the main room features mudflap girls of both varieties -- Afro Fabulous and Farrah -- and the hooker-red walls are hung with various black velvet masterpieces on similar themes. Anyway, Sam enters from his latest investigatory bout of LYING to piss all over poor El Deano's fun, slapping an oblivious Dean on his feet to get his attention, then primly wrinkling his nose, all, "You're enjoying that way too much." Dean's all, "The hell you expect me to do? You've got me on lockdown, here." Sam makes note of relevant plot points from last week's fantastic episode -- thereby making this one all the weaker in comparison -- and correctly insists that as Dean's now up on wanted posters nationwide after their jaunt to see about a shape-shifter in Milwaukee, Sam couldn't invite him along to LIE their way into a government facility to interview the homicidal whore.
Dean makes grumpy noises in response, so Sam flaps his hands around in the air and disappears into the bathroom just as Dean's time with the Magic Fingers expires. There's a bit of business regarding his need for more quarters before he joins Sam in the bathroom to get the skinny on the homicidal whore, and long story short, the facts of the case are these: The guy Gloria offed was a campus librarian named Carl who had no priors, lots of friends, and an active role in his church. Gloria herself, despite being locked up in the nuthouse, appears to be entirely sane -- at peace, even -- though she does admit to all of the classic symptoms of religious ecstasy, including euphoria and all that. "So, Gloria's just your standard-issue whacko?" Dean asks. "I mean, she wouldn't be the first nutjob in history to kill in the name of religion, know what I mean?" "No," Sam snots, fussily folding his jacket for some bizarre reason, "but she's the second in town to murder because an angel told them to -- little bit odd, don't you think?" "Odd?" Dean repeats before answering his own question with "Yeah," and going on to add, "Supernatural? Maybe. But angels? Nah." "Why not?" Sam snaps, and Dean's all, "Uh, 'cause there's no such thing, dumbass?" and Sam sighs with barely concealed frustration and condescension and lectures, "There's ten times as much lore about angels as there is about anything else we've ever hunted." Dean does not snap back that mass-market paperbacks by Doreen Virtue hardly count as "lore," but chooses instead to counter, "There's a ton of lore on unicorns, too -- in fact, I hear that they ride on silver moonbeams and shoot rainbows outta their ass!" "Wait," Sammy bleats, all faux-gutted as he settles onto one of the beds, "there's no such thing as unicorns?"