Back on the soundstage, Our Intrepid Ninnies futz around with their package on The Emporium set for, as you'll recall, they're under the impression they must activate the exit portal in the same exact location Belthazor whapped them through the thing in the first place. Unfortunately, Brian Doyle-Murray drops by with his first assistant to inform them that both the boys and The Emporium set are required for filming, now, and that they'd best get their pampered asses in gear, as there are nearly three pages of dialogue that have to be shot before the day is through. "Looks like we're gonna have to do a little acting," Dean whispers to Sam with no small amount of nervous snickering. "What?" Sam bites, aghast, and...
...ACTION! There follows a montage of intentionally bad acting that, quite frankly, drags. Just a bit. We watch as the boys blow take after take by missing their marks or flubbing their lines or staring directly into the camera, and while some of the individual moments are actually quite funny -- like when Sam can't figure out what to do with his arms, or when Dean attempts to mimic "Misha's" gravelly line delivery, or when Sam can't figure out what to do with his arms again -- the sequence runs for a full three minutes of screen time, and that's at least ninety seconds too long. We get the joke, such as it is, immediately, and the whole thing ends up slowly sucking the life out of itself to die a painful and lingering death like one of those Saturday Night Live skits that never knows when to end. Which means that Brian Doyle-Murray should feel right at home here, I guess.
And when it's all over, Brian Doyle-Murray asks of his colleagues, "Did we get anything we can use?" "Well, technically," his primary assistant begins, "we have them saying everything, in bits and pieces -- could be sort of experimental?" "Whatever," Brian Doyle-Murray sighs before lifting his eyes to the heavens and repeating to himself, "Season Six."
Meanwhile, back in their holding pen with "Misha," Sam and Dean perch on their little Supernatural chairs and bitch. "Who wrote this?" Sam snaps as his humiliation curdles into rage. "Nobody says 'penultimate'!" he seethes. For his part, Dean would be quite happy to shoot himself in the head, if that'll keep him from ever setting foot on that damn set again. Fortunately for the two of them, Brian Doyle-Murray bellows, "Moving on!" and Our Intrepid Imbeciles dart out of the frame with their box, leaving "Misha" alone to narrate another twit like so: "I-M-H-O, J and J had a late one last night, R-O-T-F-L-M-F-A-O." WHO THE FUCK TALKS TO THEIR PHONE LIKE THAT?