I wasn't kidding with the Poison thing, by the way. Yep, Poor Philandering Phil switches his car stereo on and finds Poison right in the middle of "Every Rose Has Its Thorn." Sad little Phil takes a sad little bite of his sad little cheeseburger, and as the luridly overdone power ballad continues beneath the action, the camera cuts over to Horsey Amanda placing her maggoty feast upon that same foul, witchy altar from the top of the hour, and again, my hands are involuntarily flying to my mouth in anticipatory sympathetic agony, because the only thing worse than having your teeth fall out of your mouth is biting into a bit of food and finding something that most certainly should not be there. Did I mention that mouth shit freaks me the fuck out? "You did!" Good. So. Anyway. Just as Philandering Paul notices his watch is missing -- and whatever to that, show -- Horsey Amanda's placing the purloined timepiece in question atop the squirmy pile of rotting chicken in her living room. Craptination ensues, and Horsey Amanda punctuates it all by crazily hissing, "This dinner was cooked for you, Paul. Arthur. Dutton!" right before she plunges her athame into the gooey, slithering mess on the plate. "Now you're going to eat it!" she asserts, Manson Lamps aglow, and I think Raoul's on the verge of whizzing himself again. "WHEEEEEEE!"
Back in the car, the radio inexplicably yet awesomely buzzes and squeals and retunes itself far up the dial, and when it settles somewhere around 106.66 KISS-FM, Screamin' Jay Hawkins is, well, screaming. "I Put A Spell On You," to be precise. Philandering Paul's apparently not a fan of such ludicrously obvious musical selections, and quickly switches the stereo off, eliciting further howls of outrage and disgust from your faithful recapper's faithfully scaly friend. "It's Screamin' Jay Hawkins!" Raoul shrieks, appalled. "And he's a wild man, so this heartless miscreant can just bug off!" Actually, now that you mention it... "Hee! See what I did there?!" Yes, Raoul, we all see what you did there. Very nice. For yes, as Philandering Paul set aside his cheeseburger for a moment to flick off the radio, a torrent of maggots spilled from the bun, and I don't know if I can handle another goddamned second of this. "Eeeeeeeeeeeee!" shrieks Raoul, who most certainly can. So, in the silence now occupying the car, Poor Paul grabs the cheeseburger from its wrapper once again, and he then -- after taking a moment to ponder the fleeting nature of life, or something -- raises the cheeseburger to his mouth, and -- wait for it -- bites into the writhing mass of maggots now consuming his dinner. "GOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" I've got to look away before I hurl. "Wimp!"
Paul's bellow of shock and revulsion would be mighty, indeed, had he not apparently aspirated some of the maggots. God, I hate this show. The radio chooses this moment to switch itself back on, and Screamin' Jay Hawkins howls away in the background as Paul frantically scrabbles with the door's handle to plunge headlong onto the slick asphalt, where he chokes and gags and spits up maggots just as Metallicar leaps up behind him from points unknown. Action Ginormotron scrambles to wedge the entirety of his fifteen-foot frame beneath the steering column, and while he gropes around for the hex bag he's certain to find, Dashing El Deano pounds away at Paul's hacking back. "Got it!" Sam eventually shouts, and he yanks himself back outside where he quickly deploys some sort of piston-hinged turbo jet-lighter to immolate both the bag and its contents.