...Batshit Becky's, where the lady of the house emerges from her boudoir in a strikingly demure negligee to dine with her new husband for the first time, and I've got to admit, they've really done poor Emily Perkins a solid for the first time this episode by allowing her to look like her really quite attractive self in this glamour shot. Even Whammied Sammy notices how lovely Batshit Becky looks, and then she opens her goddamned mouth, and everything goes to hell. Again. It's really a shame, because I've got nothing against Emily Perkins as a performer -- and while I'm throwing around faint praise, I should probably note that Leslie Odom does a fine job as Gay Guy this evening -- but the script they've saddled her with tonight just suh-huuuuuucks. Every major plot point is telegraphed scenes in advance, so there's absolutely no tension or sense of urgency at all, and nothing is novel or especially funny, despite the fact that this is supposed to be one of this series' comedic meta-episodes, and we're eleven goddamned minutes in, and there hasn't been a single goddamned gruesome death yet, and WHY DIDN'T THEY CANCEL THIS SHIT AT THE END OF SEASON FIVE? "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" God, I hate you, Raoul.

ANY-way, where the hell was I? Oh, yes: Whammied Sammy and Batshit Becky clink champagne glasses in a toast just before Whammied Sammy comes down with one of those massively debilitating migraines he used to get all the time back in Season Two. Alas, this does not lead to blurry visions of even better episodes to come as it did so many times in the past, but instead simply causes Batshit Becky's image to double, then treble in his eyes as the effects of Gay Guy's nefarious hex potion slowly begin to wear off. A panicking Becky immediately realizes what's going on, dumps a bit of the fresh potion she received a couple of scenes ago into Sam's champagne, and all but forces the subsequent mixture down his remarkably broad and healthy throat. Thus so efficiently rehexed, Rewhammied Sammy offers Batshit Becky a docile and loving little smile along with a few appropriate cooing noises, and as a much-relieved Becky takes a swig of her champagne, we cut over to...

...some random minor-league baseball stadium, where an athletic thirtysomething whacks away at balls hurled by an auto-loading pitching machine while some ominously hoodied ratbag watches the guy's every move from the stands. Soon enough, the ominously hoodied ratbag flicks a little telekinetic mojo at the pitching machine, and instantly ramps the thing up to eleven. The first subsequent ball shatters the thirtysomething's bat, the second brings him to his knees when it connects with his chest, and the third supposedly obliterates his face, though if you frame through the moment of contact, it becomes clear they just added a splotch of red to the guy's cheek in post. "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" Yeah, so not worth trying to wake him up. In any event, this last ball sends the athletic thirtysomething flopping forward into the dirt, where his rapidly cooling corpse proceeds to bleed out all over home plate, and in yet another sign of just how much this episode sucks, we enter this evening's first commercial break most woefully CHOMP!-less.