...THE SEASON FINALE SNOT ROCKET!, and now for the news I know you've all been so desperate to hear: Yes, Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon did indeed land at JFK on the evening of the seventeenth as promised, and he is now once more safely ensconced atop his overstuffed armchair, all comfy and warm beneath his delightfully embroidered Snuggie. "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" Naturally, when he arrived, I immediately asked him to explain his mysterious disappearance, and he promptly launched himself into some wild and fanciful tale involving -- but certainly not limited to -- the following: An elderly and astonishingly well-connected Italian "businessman" named Alberto who has a thing for lizards, a madcap whirlwind romance that led to a spectacularly ill-fated cruise through the Mediterranean, a sheaf of forever-lost travel documents that slipped beneath the waves once the poor dear was forced to swim to shore, innumerable frigid nights spent on the road walking from one rumored place of refuge to the next, the entirely unintentional defilement of The Shroud Of Turin, many weeks slaving away in an Italian wallet-making sweatshop staffed almost exclusively by North African dragons fleeing the late unpleasantness in Tunisia, rampant "anti-gentlebeast" "racism" on display at the American consulate in Milan, and finally, the letter he sent that at long last initiated his return to the United States. Of course, there are so many holes in his story that I don't know where to begin picking it all apart, but the poor dear did arrive on my doorstep looking exceptionally peaked -- his manicure is a mess -- and it's obvious the ordeal left him at least three or four pounds lighter, so I think it's for the best if I just let him sleep for now so the dear dizzy lizard can regain his strength. Besides, this episode is so fucking boring, it's really not worth waking him up. "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" Aw.
Anyway, where the hell was I? Oh, yes: When the dripping is done, we join Our Intrepid Heroes as they motor through the evening on some as-yet-unspecified mission. "I still say this is a bad idea," Dashing El Deano gripes from behind the wheel of this week's crapped-out piece of automotive trash. "It was your idea," Darling Sammy sniffily points out, adding, "and it was the best one either of us had." "I said it as a joke," Dean protests, "only because we got no magic spell, no book, nothing on how to find a freaking righteous bone!" Dirty! Sam suggests they try summoning My Sweet Baboo for a consult, an idea Dean nixes immediately because the last time they tried that, Castiel materialized on the car "naked" and "covered in bees," and this entire conversation has certainly taken an unexpected turn for the disgustingly filthy, hasn't it? Fortunately, Dashing El Deano decides to switch on the radio at this moment and, after a pair of extraordinarily expository business reporters make mention of the fact that Richard Roman's holed himself up at SucroCorp's tackily-appointed world headquarters in Seattle, Our Intrepid Heroes exchange A Look Fraught With Significance.