...FLASHBACK! "My name is Jimmy Novak," he narrates as the screen flares white, "I'm from Pontiac, Illinois, and I have a family." By the time he's finished his present-day statement, the screen's settled down for a vignette of domestic bliss set, as the little card at the bottom of the screen would have us believe, "One Year Ago," and long story short, Jimmy Novak -- as I more-or-less noted in the recaplet -- is your typical tedious bible-thumping downstater saddled with absolutely tragic hair and an even worse fashion sense that sees him accessorizing with a dull wifely unit named Amelia and a vaguely annoying adolescent daughter named Claire, and that's all anyone really needs to know about that, because seriously, people: BORING! "Those...things arrived on the screen mere seconds ago!" Raoul agrees. "And already I'm feeling sleepy! ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!" And now we've lost Raoul. Thanks for nothing, show!
In any event, I suppose I should transcribe the blessing he recites on behalf of himself and his female familial property units before the dinner they are about to receive, mainly because the question of what this guy offered The Gang Upstairs in exchange for the privilege of riding Castiel's comet over the last year has been pending since the first episode of the season, so here goes (emphasis mine, of course):
"Bless this food, O Lord, and ourselves to Thy loving service that we may always continue in Thy faith and fear to the honor and glory of Thy name, amen."
So, there you have it. Mystery solved! Next!
Later that evening, Jimmy From Pontiac's crashed out on his Barcalounger in front of, like, The 700 Club, of all the fucking godforsaken things this sanctimonious douchebag could be watching, when the signal thankfully squelches out for a second before squealing back in on a silent image of the earth from space. Pretty sneaky, show. This image squelches away before too long as well, however, and the television flips through the briefest of glances at heavily distorted war imagery -- and you can insert your own "Must be FOX News!" joke here -- until Jimmy From Pontiac's forced to open and roll his eyes. With not a small amount of angry irritation passing across his expression, he rises to futz with the cable, and I'd be willing to bet he's so mightily pissed off right now mainly because his wife and daughter aren't around to fix the fucking set for him. Which, you know, is more the pity for the sexist patriarchalist, for the moment he reaches the screen, the images start flipping by faster and faster and faster until they've melted into a blur of solid white, and the squelching noises bleed into a solitary piercing whine emanating from the speakers that rapidly amplifies in volume to overwhelm Jimmy's senses, and the guy crashes to the carpet of his living room with his hands balled into desperate fists over his ears before Jimmy From Pontiac finally lapses into a series of epileptic convulsions until both the whine and the TV screen cut out.