...this week's seedy motel room which, despite the mirror on the ceiling, has little to offer by way of overt, eye-searing tackiness. Well, little aside from the just-appearing slimeball of a patron across the hall, I suppose. The just-appearing slimeball of a patron Dean instantly recognizes as "Richie" from Brooklyn, of course, and a bigger, more stereotypical goombah you're not likely to see on this show, mainly because Supernatural's supposed to be about terrorized Middle-American white trash, not greasy-haired, chain-wearing, beater-clad dagos from Bensonhurst, which is what we're getting with Richie, here. In any case, after Richie The Wop dispatches the fake-tittied hooker with whom he'd been spending the last four minutes or so, Dean invites him into the boys' room to reminisce. Seems El Deano and The Wop first met up battling a succubus in Canarsie while Darling Sammy was still in school somewhere doing Our Town, and because Richie The Wop is FUCKING UNBEARABLE, I'll be skipping through the expository blathering that follows to draw out the salient point, which is that Elizabethville's sudden switch to Satan's side of things seems to have been effected by one Mr. Trotter, the former Lions Club president primarily responsible for opening the town to gamblers and whores two months ago, right around the time -- you guessed it -- shoulder-smashing G.I. Jake unlocked that damn door to Hell. Cue the Creedence!