...driving the Impala! Certain elements of this show's fan base are certain to be pleased with this development, I'm sure. Meanwhile...

...The Charmed Ones Craptinate until Deluxe Action Sammy With Super-Special Glow-In-The-Dark Breaking-And-Entering Feet boots in Renee's front door and threatens the trio with The Fucking Colt. The Charmed Ones feign ignorance. Well, one of them does, at any rate.

Meanwhile, Dean's still dying. Well, until Deluxe Action Ruby With Super-Special Glow-In-The-Dark Breaking-And-Entering Feet boots in the room's door and starts force-feeding him some foul-looking liquid from the boda bag she's slung around her shoulder. Groovy. And when she's done, she stands astride his still-prone form and sneers, "Stop. Calling. Me. Bitch!" Super-groovy.

Halliwell Manor. Sam displays some of that Dean-style bad-assery he's been so assiduously cultivating this season by cocking The Fucking Colt That Can Kill Anything Except When It Usually Can't, and threatening to blow The Glamorous Ladies away in five seconds if they don't admit to everything and reverse the mojo they tossed in his brother's direction. Paige insists that they were just trying to secure a lower interest rate for Phoebe, which totally confuses Sam, because he thought their names were Elizabeth and Renee.

Back at the motel, Princess Sparkle calmly informs Dean that the next time he cocks The Fucking Colt at her, she's shoving it up his ass. "The mouth on that young lady!" Raoul shrieks, clutching his nonexistent pearls with an appalled paw. "Honestly, what are they teaching all these silly little children nowadays?!" Dim Dean, for his foul-mouthed part, insists the brackish liquid from Ruby's groovy boda bag tasted exactly like ass, and wonders what the hell it is. "Witchcraft, shortbus," Princess Sparkle sneers, right before prancing on out of the room. "You're the shortbus," Infantile El Deano counters at her disappearing back, and I snicker, because Infantile El Deano and I will both be skipping merrily into the flaming maw of Hell at season's end. Hand-in-hand, even! "That's the most precious thing I've heard all year!" Thanks, my scaly friend, but the year's barely five weeks old. "Exactly my point!" Bitch.