Homo Hacienda, Basement Division. Sam-In-A-Geek struggles against the ropes that bind him. Next!
This Week's Other Motel Room. Demonically Enhanced Kitty frees Imitation Of Sam and promises him whatever his puny little weakling heart desires, but there is, of course, a catch: "You have to meet the boss." "The boss?" Imitation Of Sam guhs. "You know," Demonically Enhanced Kitty croons, "your Satanic majesty, or whatever the kids are calling it these days." Imitation Of Sam balks, so Demonically Enhanced Kitty lays it on thick with the seductive temptation and whatnot, and just when it seems like Imitation Of Sam might change his mind, Dashing El Deano leaps from his momentary coma to smack Demonically Enhanced Kitty around with a little of the hand-to-hand. He seems to be a little out of practice, however, for Demonically Enhanced Kitty quickly beats him to the shag carpeting, where she proceeds to boot Our Intrepid Hero in the stomach until Dean's pretty much coughing up blood. Fortunately for Dean, though, Imitation Of Sam has committed the most effective exorcism in the grimoire to memory, and it happily coincides with the one he himself finally managed to memorize after the late unpleasantness in Elizabethville, Ohio, so the two tag-team Demonically Enhanced Kitty with a hearty round of Latination until Demonically Enhanced Kitty unhinges her lower jaw to expel a roiling cloud of bitterly black demonic goo that escapes through the motel room's ventilation duct, and we collapse with the freshly depossessed Kitty into the final commercial break most woefully CHOMP!-less, because Eric Kripke hates me after that crack I made about his mother.
This Week's Other Motel Room. Aftermath. Kitty's curled up on one of the twin beds, wrapped in a comforter, while Imitation Of Sam reverses the body-switching spell with an assist from one of the cheesiest and crappiest low-budget flares to white I have ever seen in my godforsaken life. I hate this show.
And in the end, Our Intrepid Heroes confiscate Gary's grimoire (I'm guessing), salt and burn The Gay's rapidly cooling corpse (I'm guessing), and drop the kids off at Chez Frankel in the middle of the pissing rain with a few final words of advice (I know, because that's the only bit they've deigned to show us, and I feel yet another all-caps rant coming on, but I'm stuck here in the middle of this parenthetical run-on, and parenthetical run-ons are never the best place to start screaming about how ERIC KRIPKE CAN SUCK MY GODDAMNED ASS IF HE THINKS I'M EVER SITTING THROUGH ANOTHER HOUR AS STUPID AND AWFUL AND EVIL AND HATEFUL AND POINTLESS AND INSULTING AND SHITTY AS THIS ONE WAS), and then it's over.