Blondie goes back inside, and Sam sighs his way over to Dean. Sam wraps up the Zach Guzman storyline by expositing, "The cops are blaming this Dean Winchester guy for Emily's murder. Found the murder weapon in the guy's lair, found Zach's clothes stained with her blood. Now they're thinking the surveillance tape maybe was tampered with. Rebecca says Zach should be released soon." Hmmm, I wonder if the cops thought it was odd that they questioned a Sam Winchester a night or so before zeroing in on this Dean Winchester? Oh well, no time to ponder these matters, because Free's "All Right Now" starts jamming in the background, and there is nothing I like better than air guitaring to "Drive at Five" standards so I gotta get up to get down right here.

Inside the Metallicar, Dean apologizes and says he wishes Sam could just be "Joe College." Would that mean he'd have to wear that stupid Animal House "College" t-shirt like it wasn't tragically lame to be invoking the spirit of John Belushi via an Amazon.com-bought t-shirt? Sam tells Dean not to feel bad, that even at Stanford he didn't feel like he fit in. Dean teases his brother that that's because he's a freak before assuring him that he's a freak, too: "I'm right there with you all the way." Sam chuckles thankfully and Dean takes us out with another punchline: "I have to say, I'm sorry I'm gonna miss it." Sam: "Miss what?" Dean: "How many chances am I gonna have to see my own funeral?" And someone who WASN'T air-drumming to "All Right Now" might note that murderers don't usually get bang-up funerals, or note how we have literally no understanding of how or why the villain of this episode was being villainous or even how this episode reminds her of the charming and handsome young football player from high school who was naturally bright but totally lazy and so is now still living in her hometown, every night reliving the glory days of the Central Jersey playoffs (the air so crisp, the cheerleaders so fresh, the crowd huddled together and cheering) while selling insurance by day from a dingy storefront office in the strip mall off Route 31-- one might note those things if one WASN'T standing in front of her television and just totally feeling like, TGIF, man, T. G. I. fucking F.