Anyway, where the hell was I? Oh, yes: The pointless cocktail waitress coos some soothing words of wisdom in Dean's ear at this juncture, but that's totally not important right now because what is important right now is the fact that Dean's cell phone's just gone all a-tingle with an urgent text message from the ginormous hipster douchebag himself. "348 Twain Ave.," it reads, adding, "WEAR FED SUIT!" Dean goes, "Buh?" and the next thing we know, we've arrived at...

...the world-famous Little White Wedding Chapel, which is actually at 1301 Las Vegas Boulevard South, but whatever. Dashing El Deano's obediently donned his full FBI drag, just as his brother's hasty text instructed, and we watch as he warily tiptoes across the dingy-looking checkerboard linoleum in the chapel's main hall until an overhead light starts to buzzing and blinking and flickering on and off, seemingly of its own accord. Instantly on edge, Dean draws his trusty pearl-handled automatic and advances slowly towards the tightly-shut doors at the end of the corridor until...Darling Sammy flings those doors open to greet him with a broad smile! DUN! And that DUN! is actually quite sincere on my part, because what follows is absolutely dreadful. Like, from this point forward, all the way to the end of the episode. WHY DIDN'T THEY CANCEL THIS SHIT AT THE END OF SEASON FIVE? "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" SHUT UP, RAOUL.